Yet Another SiblingWhoLived Fic
by pstibbons
Summary: AU GOF. HHr, CedricCho, TerryPadma. Harry, the brother of the Boy Who Lived, and Hermione take their SlytherinGryffindor relationship public in their fourth year, resulting in much opposition, friendship, laughter, deaths, and resurrections.
1. Going Public

_A/N: This is my take on the traditional Sibling-Who-Lived fic. This AU takes place in the time of GOF, though Moody/Crouch isn't the DADA teacher. This fic should **not** be read by Ron or Ginny or Draco or James/Lily fans, SuperHarry lovers, vampire hunters, professional angstypunks, or flashbackophiles. It can be read by Hermione fans, readers interested in a smart Voldemort, and humans with a penchant for odd jokes scattered about. _

* * *

Hermione Jane Granger walked slowly down the sixth floor corridor. Silencing Charms were on her feet and Disillusionment and scent-concealing Charms on her entire body. She had already survived one narrow brush with Argus Filch and Mrs Norris. 

She reached the third door on the left from the end of the corridor, and quickly went in. Then she waited for him.

As a Muggleborn Gryffindor, she was well aware of the dangers of meeting with a Slytherin. Especially when he was the second most hated Slytherin in their year. Only Draco Malfoy, King of Bigoted Idiots, was more detested by her housemates.

She shook her head. Her house had plenty of bigoted idiots of its own. All following the Boy-Who-Lived like sheep, even as he did stupid things like torment his twin brother for the crime of being in Slytherin. Could they not see that said brother was a perfectly normal boy? Correction, better than normal - he was smarter, wittier, sneakier, braver, and definitely cuter than any _normal_ boy. And Paul Potter, the Boy Who Lived For The Bloody Spotlight, was definitely normal.

Like everyone else, her attention had first been drawn by the fame of Paul Potter. She had observed everyone's surprise at the Sorting Feast when another Potter - Harry - had also turned up to be Sorted, and the shock when he was sorted into Slytherin.

She had been excited to come to this new school - this Magical school! - and hoped life would be different from her Muggle Primary School days when she was labelled a Bookworm and remained friendless as a result. But it had not taken long for similar noises to start from her Gryffindor housemates. She still considered the Sorting Hat several frayed threads short of a full headpiece for placing her outside of Ravenclaw.

She had been publicly branded a friendless Know-It-All by Ron Weasley and Paul Potter a month into her first year, and had gone to cry in a girl's bathroom as a result. For some reason, Harry had come after her and saved her from a troll. She had lied to defend him and they had been friends ever since.

Since they could not be friends in public, as that would be dangerous for a first year half-blood in Slytherin, they communicated in secret. They met in classrooms at night, just as they were doing now. They sent each other letters via school owls - sending them through the intermediary of a family friend of Harry's so that the owl that Harry sent his letters with was not the owl that delivered letters to Hermione and vice versa.

Then the breakthrough: Hermione had learnt from a friendly Ravenclaw prefect how to Charm a pair of notebooks so that anything that appeared in one simultaneously appeared in the other. She still smiled whenever she recalled Harry's reaction to her giving him one of the notebooks. No-one had ever given her the goddess treatment - falling to their knees and repeatedly bowing to her with their arms outstretched. Harry was very sweet.

She told the other Gryffindors that she was keeping in touch with her Muggle friend Bertha, while he told the other Slytherins that he was keeping in touch with a penpal called Zany. Needless to say, they had both been equally unamused by the names the other had coined for them.

Keeping up appearances had been difficult. She had trouble convincing Harry _not_ to defend her when his housemates called her a Mudblood. Similarly, he had persuaded her against her better judgement not to defend him to her housemates.

And now it was their fourth year, and term had just started.

The door opened, and Harry entered. She dashed to his arms, and the snogging (and other activities) went on for several minutes. He had asked her out near the end of their second year, after her longest stay in the Hospital Wing. She had accepted after contemplating the decision for five seconds.

"How was your summer, Harry?" she asked. They were both sitting on a transfigured blanket, their backs against the wall, her head on his shoulder.

"The usual. Paul was a prick, Dad remembered that I existed about half a dozen times. And... "

Hermione waited. There was still one person left in the family - Mary, Harry's stepmother. Lily, the mother of the Potter twins, had died when they were six. Harry missed her much, especially as she had been the only person in his family to give him any attention.

"... she's starting to notice me," Harry continued, very hesitantly. "But... she keeps giving me these weird looks, especially if I'm alone with her."

Hermione's mind jumped instantly to the most unpleasant scenario, but she managed to stop herself saying it. Instead she gave Harry a hug.

"We've got to get you out of there, Harry. Maybe my parents can adopt you or something."

"What?" he asked, genuinely surprised. "But they've never met me!"

"I've told them enough," said Hermione, blushing. "My mother's rather worried about you. So's my dad, I think. I know he's really looking forward to meeting you." She could see the questions in Harry's eyes.

"I need to think about that, Mione," he said. "There's something else I wanted us to talk about. I want to go public with us."

Hermione's breath caught. She hadn't expected him to agree "Are you sure, Harry?" she asked. It was more of a danger to him than her. After all, she didn't think any Gryffindor would try to murder her in her bed for dating a Slytherin, while precisely that had happened to Blaise Zabini when he had attempted to date Katie Bell the previous year.

"I can defend myself now," he replied. "And I can sleep in classrooms if I must. I checked the rulebook - students are barred from living in other Houses' dormitories, but nothing says they have to be in their own dormitories."

"But what about the Quidditch team? They'll kick you off the team for dating me!"

"One, there's no Quidditch this year. Two, you're more important to me than Quidditch. Three, we've been told to bring dress robes, which means there's a ball this year," he said, putting a finger on her lips so she wouldn't protest. "And I want to go with the most attractive witch in Hogwarts, and how can I do that if we're not a public couple?"

Hermione didn't reply, but Harry understood. After all, it wasn't her fault that her lips couldn't do two things at once.

* * *

"Are you planning to enter the Tournament then?" asked Blaise Zabini. The boy was, like Harry, viewed as one of the 'silent neutrals' in Slytherin, and his closest friend. They were waiting near the entrance to the Great Hall. Harry had already explained to Blaise about his Gryffindor girlfriend, much to his friend's shock and amusement. It was also why the black boy had his camera with him. Both figured there would be several facial expressions in the Great Hall worth immortalizing. 

"Not really," replied Harry. "I could use the money, certainly, but I don't think my girlfriend would like it."

"Spoken like a true Slytherin," smirked Blaise. "Self-preservation and all that. She'd Hex you to pieces if you entered."

"Hello Blaise," said a voice behind them, "and his sidekick. Hello Sidekick."

"Hello, Queen of the Library," replied Harry. "My master here has been informed of the upcoming proceedings."

"I noticed," smirked Hermione. "Nice camera, Mr Zabini. I trust you have adeqate film?"

"Of course, Miss Granger," Blaise replied. "I would not miss this for the world. Congratulations, by the way. I never suspected anything."

"Really?" asked Hermione, genuinely surprised. She had worked with Blaise in Arithmancy and Potions, and found him an excellent observer.

"Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I never suspected him of having such good taste," clarified Blaise.

Hermione blushed, and Harry took her arm in his in a gesture of possession, saying "Mine!" to his friend. Blaise laughed, and asked where they planned to sit.

"Ravenclaw," the pair answered, blushing in unison.

"Oh man, Harry, I am so going to tease you to hell!" chuckled their friend. "Alright, seriously now. Do the Ravenclaws know this? And you have permission from Flitwick?"

"Yes to both," replied Hermione, just as seriously. "I told Padma Patil last night, and she and Terry Boot will be saving a couple of places for us."

"Boot?" asked Harry. He knew Padma was one of Hermione's few friends, and that Terry was Padma's boyfriend, but he had never thought that the boy would approve of a Gryffindor-Slytherin relationship. Then again, Boot was a reserved student, like most Ravenclaws. Harry concluded the teen was neutral and willing to go along with his girlfriend for the moment. Harry could live with that - it was certainly far better than the treatment most others gave to him.

"It's okay," reassured Hermione. "Padma says he can be trusted."

"Terry's an okay bloke," added Blaise. "And if he isn't, Padma's got a vicious Medusa Hex. Now, I'm going to go in and get prepared to click away, and you two lovebirds can come after a minute. I'll rush out before that to warn you if the Ravens haven't got a place ready for you to sit. Got that, kids?"

They nodded, and watched him disappear into the Great Hall. When he did not return after a minute, they followed him, their hands interlinked. Conversation in the Hall hushed, especially when they stopped to exchange a huge sloppy kiss in the center of the room. The silence changed to excited whispers as they sat down at the Ravenclaw table. They sat next to each other, hands still joined, opposite a grinning Padma and a stoic Terry.

The silence was broken by Ron Weasley storming over, followed by Paul Potter.

"Hermione!" yelled the redhead. Neither Harry nor Hermione were surprised. Ron Weasley was known to have a bizarre infatuation for her, was a bigoted anti-Slytherin, and considered himself the Lord Protector of Gryffindor Honour, after King Paul. "What are you doing with that Slytherin scum?"

"Do you want me to deal with the git, Mione?" Harry asked loudly, swallowing a mouthful. They had an audience to play for, after all.

"Not yet Harry," she replied, equally loudly. "I'm the only one capable of speaking slowly so he can understand me." She stood up, waving a spoon. "Harry and I have been friends since first year, ever since he saved me from a troll that you - yes, YOU! - pushed me into contact with. We've been going out for the past year. This is our business." She made elegant shooing motions with her hand.

Neither was surprised when Ron pulled out his wand and tried to stun Harry. Harry, who had been keeping his shields up since they entered the Hall, dodged anyway, and sent off an vicious Expelliarmus that sent Ron flying over the Slytherin table. Filius Flitwick and Crina Vanescu (the new and contreversial DADA Professor who was a vampiress) rushed over to the prone Weasley, while McGonagall and Snape made their way to the Ravenclaw table.

From the corner of the Great Hall, Hermione saw Blaise give them a thumbs up, as if to say that he had caught the action and would soon be selling photos _("Roll up, roll up, one sickle each!")_ of Weasley flying sans broomstick.

As their Heads of Houses approached, Hermione took out a large tome, and jumped on to the bench. She was nervous as hell, but this was for Harry.

"According to Section 32.1 of the rules of Hogwarts," she proclaimed, "it is permitted for a student to ..."

There was another crash, this time caused by Paul hitting the ground. He had tried to stun Harry as well, and failed. Harry had sent a Body Bind at him.

"As I was saying," said Hermione, putting a hand on Harry's head to calm him down. McGonagall and Snape had stopped, watching her, while other teachers had gone to help Weasley and (the non-cute) Potter. She figured she was behaving very uncharacteristically, and smirked inwardly. _Maybe this would be fun after all._ "According to Hogwarts rules, it is permitted for a student to respond to spells with spells of the same category without punishment. Harry is far more capable of using it than these two morons who shame my house is not the issue here." She could hear the cry of protests from the Gryffindor table, and ducked a couple of Hexes - one a Bat Bogey from Ginny Weasley, Paul's girlfriend.

"Please put your wand away, Potter!" shouted Professor Snape.

"Get down from the table, Miss Granger!" yelled Professor McGonagall. Hermione wondered if she was still the Deputy Headmistress' favourite student any more. "And you too, Miss Weasley!"

Harry, his wand already sheathed, held out his arms so Hermione could jump into them. She did, and he twirled her around a hundred and eighty degrees before letting her go. They faced their Heads of Houses, awaiting judgement.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for an inappropriate display of public affection!" yelled Snape. "And another ten for poor aim, Weasley!"

"Thirty points to Gryffindor for a thorough knowledge of the rules," said the Deputy Headmistress, . "And you will both report to the Headmaster's office in two days, when he returns from Bulgaria."

* * *

"Diggory! Chang!" shouted Harry. The Seekers for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were on their way to breakfast together. They stopped and turned around to face their Slytherin counterpart. 

"What's up, Potter?" asked Cho Chang, smiling slightly. They weren't friends by any means, but not enemies either. Their sparring on the Quidditch pitch left them with mutual respect. Besides, Harry Potter's reputation outside Slytherin, prior to yesterday's events, was one of reserved neutrality.

"Nice show last night," added Cedric Diggory. "I always knew Hermione Granger had good taste, incidentally."

Harry blushed for a moment, and then returned to business. "I wanted to talk about Quidditch," he said. "May I join you at your table?"

Cedric and Cho blinked, and turned to look at each other. Diggory nodded. "Let's go to mine," he said.

They walked in silence to the Hufflepuff's table. The badgers' Seeker made a hand gesture to request privacy, and a few people moved out of the way to clear a large space at the end of the table. The trio sat down. Over at the Gryffindor table, Hermione gave Harry a smile and a wave, which he reciprocated.

"What about it?" asked Cho.

"I want to play Quidditch this year," Harry said. "What of you and your teams?"

"I want to, of course," replied Cho, warming up at once. "Most of my team is. The two Beaters are both taking their NEWTs and have welcomed the cancellation of the season, but I don't think they were going to stay on the team anyway."

"I'm taking NEWTs," said Cedric, "but want to play anyway. I need the relaxation, for Merlin's sake! All my team does, for sure. And so do the Gryffies - Angelina and I were talking yesterday, and the woman is absolutely furious."

"I don't know about us snakes," said Harry slowly, surprised that he had been given the information about the other three houses so easily. He reminded himself that keeping your feelings and opinions to yourself was not a required survival trait outside Slytherin. "I am pretty sure I'll never play for Slytherin again, if my beloved Captain has his way."

"Malfoy?" asked Chang, eyebrows raised.

"Who else?" replied Harry, a tad bitterly. "Can't have blood traitors like me polluting the team, and all that."

"You knew this before you went public?" asked Cedric.

"Of course we did," replied Harry, again surprised by the questions. They were supposed to be talking about Quidditch, not his love life! They almost sounded interested in him as a person. Which was impossible of course. Only Hermione and Blaise did that. They were just being polite.

"Alright," smiled Cho, "remind me to tell Hermione that she has a very sweet boyfriend. Not as sweet as my little Diggles, of course!"

Cedric choked.

"Er, right," said Harry, barely managing to suppress a guffaw. "About Quidditch. I see two reasons for cancelling Quidditch. One, they want to use the Quidditch Pitch for the tournament. Two, the teachers don't have time to deal with security issues and stuff. I think they're just being lazy, mind."

"I haven't seen anything happening to the Quidditch Pitch," said Diggles thoughtfully. "We passed by this morning, and it looks normal. I don't think they will use it for all tasks."

"Exactly," said Harry. "And I'm pretty sure they will allow us to schedule regular practices when the Pitch isn't being used."

"I suppose they would," replied Chang. "But isn't that pointless? I mean, I like Quidditch and all, but if there are no official matches, what's the point?"

"Ah," said Harry with a perfectly Slytherin smirk, "but what is there to prevent two houses from scheduling two practices simultaneously?"

"And then just happen to practise against each other!" cried Cedric, beaming. "Harry, that's a marvellous idea!"

"I've often wondered how you got in Slytherin, Harry," chuckled Cho. "Now I'm beginning to understand."

"Hey, don't look at me," said Harry. "It's my girlfriend's idea. She also suggested that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang be invited to schedule practices as well. I'd be shocked if Viktor Krum doesn't come for the Tournament."

"I think I'd like to become friends with your girlfriend," said Cho slowly. Her boyfriend's mouth was still open.

"Hermione's more than what she seems," smiled Harry. "Pity that Salazar put that stupid ban on Muggle-borns not entering Slytherin. Hermione would have been a cinch for us otherwise. Our loss."

"We really ought to double date sometime," said Cedric, having recovered from the discovery that Hermione Granger was smart in more ways than one. "Now, about the unofficial inter-house Quidditch league, which is basically what you're trying to set up. The Gryffies will definitely agree. What of Slytherin?"

"Hermione, Blaise and I have talked about this," replied Harry. He paused. His natural tendencies were screaming against laying out his aims so honestly, but Hermione insisted that Cho and Cedric would prefer honesty. Blaise had added that a more subtle approach in negotiations was only necessary when the parties involved had aims that could not coexist.

"This is complicated," continued Harry. "I want to play Quidditch. But I must confess - Hermione has ordered me to confess - that I also have an ulterior motive. Malfoy has an iron hold on my house, and it needs cracking. Lots of us agree on that, but no-one's willing to risk saying anything."

The Seeker couple nodded. They were both Purebloods, and understood the vice in which Lucius Malfoy held most of the traditionally Slytherin families.

"I am fairly sure Malfoy will refuse to let Slytherin join the League," Harry stated, "once he knows that the idea came from a Muggleborn witch, especially one smarter than him. And especially if the idea comes from the Gryffindor captain. Other Slytherins will want to play though, and that will cost him a lot of support."

"What of you?" asked Cho. "You'd love to play Krum, just as either of us would."

"I was hoping to form a Rest of Hogwarts team," replied Harry. "Made of reserve players from other houses. With tryouts, so that any Slytherins who want to openly defy Malfoy and play can do so."

"Including a certain boyfriend of a certain Gryffindor?" asked Cedric with a wide grin. Harry shrugged, and attempted to whistle innocently. Some questions were rhetorical.

"I get the sense that you really want Malfoy to refuse," said Cho. "Angelina will be happy to -"

"What will I be happy to do, Cho?" asked the Gryffindor captain, who had just walked to their end of the Hufflepuff table.

"Oh!" squeaked the Ravenclaw Seeker. "Hello, Angie! What brings you here?"

"I figured the three of you were discussing Quidditch," replied Angelina, looking at Harry appraisingly. "Well, one of the Weasleys did, and the other twin sent me over."

"We are indeed," said Cedric, looking at Harry for permission. The Slytherin nodded. "Please sit down, if you would. We were just discussing a most fascinating idea. An idea suggested, in fact, by one of your very own housemates."

"Er, wossat?" asked Angelina, plomping down beside Harry. "What idea? Whose idea?"

"Hermione Granger's, of course," replied Cho, as if the idea of the Gryffindor bookworm having anything to do with Quidditch was not akin to the idea of Voldemort bathing with rubber ducks.

"Er," said Angelina.

Cho explained. Harry was quite impressed. Cho had picked up on the underlying politics immediately, and was crediting Hermione with all of their joint idea. It was mostly true, of course, but Chang's spin doctoring was really making Hermione out to be something of a street-smart genius. Hermione was exactly this, in Harry's opinion, but it was unusual to see people other than himself recognizing it.

"Count me in," said Angelina with a brilliant smile. "I'll make the necessary arrangements. This is going to be _fun_."

* * *

Hermione was in the Gryffindor Common Room, doing a Potions assignment. Her status in her house had shot up immensely. Much of this was due to the grateful Quidditch players, particularly Angelina Johnson and the Weasley twins (who were the only ones who knew of the arrangements Angelina was making about the unofficial Quidditch League) publicly congratulating her and warning off anyone who dared tease or harass her. The others in the House, particularly Ron Weasley, had been rather confused by this, and gave her several appraising looks. Harry had said that at least some of those looks were just boys realizing that she was a witch, and a pretty one at that. 

Still, she had been unnerved by the response - surely organizing their own Quidditch matches was a completely obvious idea, wasn't it? It was not like the Professors ever actively did anything, as far as she could see. The students could even organize their own referees - though Madam Hooch's enthusiastic acceptance of the idea made that unnecessary. But Harry said that it wasn't traditional for wizards and witches to take action into their own hands like that - they were too used to listening to authority figures when it came to such things.

Oh well. She had spent the first three years of her Hogwarts existence being ridiculed for little reason other than being herself and doing things she considered obvious. (Including befriending Harry. It wasn't her fault if his lovability wasn't obvious to anyone else.) It was fair payback to be revered for the same reasons.

Paul Potter was a different story. He was still furious with her for daring to date his brother. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that he was now not the only prominent Potter in the school, or that his brother was in Slytherin. All she knew was that the Gryffindor Seeker was being a complete ass.

Correction. The Gryffindor Seeker was a complete ass, and others were just beginning to realize it.

Perhaps there was hope for the House of Godric.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry was busy dealing with his housemates' accusations of treachery. The first two nights after the announcement, he slept in an old classroom, accompanied by Blaise. The third night, they returned to their dormitory.

* * *

Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing. In front of him were a pair of blurry figures. One had wild brown hair. Another was dark and probably male. He figured they were Hermione and Blaise. 

He felt someone give him a glass of water. The other gave him his glasses.

"What happened?" he asked after drinking the water.

"We're not exactly sure," replied Blaise, as Hermione handed him a couple of Potions that Pomfrey had left. "You and I were attacked in the forest. We went there at night, and got beaten up."

Harry looked bemused and said nothing.

"Harry?" asked Hermione, worried.

"How many fingers, Harry?" asked Blaise, holding two digits up, one on the middle of each hand.

"Bugger off, you withered piece of molted viper skin," replied Harry, "And I'm trying to remember."

"He's okay, Hermione," chuckled Blaise.

"Er, Harry," she said once she had stopped giggling. "There's some more news."

"Lots more, actually," Blaise added. "You may want to lie down."

Harry glared at him. "Darn, I can't remember," he muttered. He paused for a moment, glancing at the nervous looks his two friends were giving each other. "What's the news then? Have you two dumped me for Blaise, Mione? Ow!"

"I don't date boys without green eyes, you idiot," she replied, stepping away from smacking his head. "And he doesn't date women smarter than him."

"Eh?" asked Harry, sounding as intelligent as he felt. "I'm terrible at twenty questions, you know!"

"You're in the Triwizard Tournament, Harry."

"Eh?" he repeated.

"You're in the Triwizard Tournament. Along with Cedric. Durmstrang and Beaubaxtons got one champion each, and Hogwarts got two. The other schools are pretty pissed off about it."

"But that's impossible!" cried Harry. "The other schools aren't even here yet!"

"You've been out for over a week, mate," said Blaise.

"Ten days, actually," clarified Hermione, nervously biting her lower lip.

"How?" asked Harry.

"No-one's really sure," replied Hermione. "Professor Dumbledore was rather angry as well when it happened. He put an age line around it so that no one below seventeen could enter. People think _we_ entered your name in."

"As if we would," replied Blaise. "We do like having you around, and the Tournament isn't famous for its safety."

"What do Cedric and Cho think?" asked Harry. "And Angelina?"

"Cedric and Angelina believe us," said Hermione, to which Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Cho was initially upset, and said that you were taking the spotlight away from her boyfriend, but she's coming around. I told her what Blaise just said, about the Tournament being dangerous and that I certainly didn't want you competing in it."

"She was pretty worried about her own boyfriend after that," added Blaise.

"And you have to compete," continued Hermione. "It's a binding magical contract."

"Let me get this straight. Ten days ago, Blaise and I were attacked in the forest, and I've been out of it since then. And in the meantime, the bloody Tournament... hey, wait a minute, how long were you out for, Blaise?"

"I got off a lot more lightly than you, four-eyes," replied Zabini. "I was only out for a day. And they haven't found the culprits yet."

"Malfoy and company?"

"They have an alibi. They said they were in the dorm when it happened."

Harry blinked, and then looked pleased.

Very pleased.

* * *

Breakfast the next morning was eventful. Harry was sitting at the Slytherin table with Blaise, and waved to Hermione over at the Gryffindor table. He ignored the mutterings of his housemates without much difficulty, considering he had plenty of practice. 

Suddenly, a large moving image appeared on one of the walls of the Great Hall. It was of the Slytherin dorms, and of Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle assaulting him and Blaise.

"That's faked!" cried Malfoy, over the shouts and horrified gasps of the rest of the school.

"What is the meaning of this?" yelled an irate Snape from the Head Table.

"This is what happened eleven days ago to Blaise Zabini and myself," said Harry, standing up. Blaise stood next to him, and Hermione was already rushing over in support. All three had their hands ready to withdraw their wands. "We expected this to happen, with all the mudbrains in our House who continue to believe in the lie that blood purity is worth anything. I placed Scrying Charms in my dormitory at the start of term, which is how we recorded this. We were beaten up by Draco Malfoy and his little buddies, people we have lived with for the past three years. Then my memory was erased, and Blaise's modified so that he would think we were attacked in the Forest. They would probably have modified my memory as well, if I had been conscious."

Then he walked out of the Great Hall, flanked by Blaise and Hermione.

The word 'mudbrain' was soon firmly implanted in the Hogwarts lexicon.

* * *

_I am also assuming Cho and Cedric got together earlier than they do in canon, and are comfortable with each other. So please don't flame me if you think Cho is being OOC. If you wish to flame me, there are lots of other wonderful reasons to do so._


	2. Bashing of all kinds

_A/N: I hadn't expected ten reviews so quickly. Dankie! I think I've replied to all the signed ones, and was pleasantly surprised to find some people already asking questions crucial to the plot.  
_

_This chapter is devoted to character bashing, and isn't particularly funny - at least not the first part of it. Apologies in advance.  
_

* * *

James and Mary Potter turned up at Hogwarts that evening to meet Harry. They met in McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom. Hermione had offered to come with Harry, but he had turned her down. And he had kept his invisibility cloak on him so that she wouldn't be tempted to Accio it and follow him. Not that she had ever actually done that. She was merely highly capable of it. 

"Hello, Harry," said James awkwardly. "Are you, well, alright?"

"We came a couple of times while you were conked out," added Mary with a small smile.

"I'm fine," replied Harry, looking at them warily.

"Oh, I'm so hopeless at this!" exclaimed his father. "Mary, would you mind giving us some time for some ... guy talk?"

Perhaps Mary had been expecting this, for she left without a fuss. Not even a raised eyebrow.

"Look Harry, I know I've been a terrible father," said James. "I hardly know you, after all, and..."

"And you think I'm a slimy Slytherin snake," added Harry.

"Harry, I never..."

"Perhaps you never said that, like _Sirius_ did," said Harry, adding an extra undertone of derision to the name of his godfather, "but you certainly _thought_ it, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"You never even asked me what I thought of my being Sorted into Slytherin. You knew me so little that you promptly jumped to the conclusion that I would buy into that whole pureblood ideology shit."

"I'm sorry, Harry, but..."

"You ignored me ever since mother died."

"Harry..."

"You never even asked me if I liked to fly."

"Harry..."

"We could have talked about Quidditch. About the difference between Chasing and Seeking. About how half of Slytherin really is a bunch of gits. But no, I wasn't the Boy Who Bloody Lived, was I?"

"HARRY! Give me a chance to talk here!"

Harry moved towards an open window, and dived out.

* * *

Mary Potter left the room, and waited in the corridor. Students passed by her, and she gave a pleasant smile and nod. One of them approached her. 

"Hello," said the girl. "Are you Mrs Potter?"

"Yes," replied Mary. The girl she was speaking narrowed her eyes.

"My name is Hermione Granger. Harry's girlfriend."

"Ah," said Mary. "Pleased to meet you."

"Really." If there was any way in which Hermione could have made the words sound more cynical, it wasn't invented yet.

"He's a good guy," added Mary.

"He needs a good mother," said Hermione, her voice icy. _Don't even think about getting your paws on my Harry._

"He certainly deserves one," said Mary, gulping.

"Good!" said Hermione, suddenly sounding all bright and sunny. "I'm so glad we understand each other. Delighted to meet you, and all that." _And you better hope I stay delighted, you dumb twit._

James ran out, babbling something about Harry jumping out of a window. He ran past them, but Mary stopped him.

"James! This is Hermione Granger, Harry's girlfriend!"

"Prongs!" said Hermione, guessing what Harry had done. "Calm down. Harry is like you."

James Potter continued to try brushing off his wife's grip so he could run after Harry, and then stopped as he realized what Hermione has said.

"Let's return to the classroom, shall we?" said Hermione. It was not a suggestion, and Mary and James returned to the room with her.

"Alright," said Hermione. "What happened."

James explained. Or tried to. Hermione soon got the drift.

"So Harry got a chance to get some of the anger he's bottled up for eight years off his chest, you didn't get the chance to say anything edgewise, and then he jumped out the window."

"Yes, that's pretty much it," said James Potter. Mary looked at him sympathetically.

"Can't say you don't deserve it," said Hermione thoughtfully, "at least from what he's told me. And I believe what he tells me, judging by the way Paul behaves."

"What about the window?" asked Mary.

"Oh, that. Harry's an eagle Animagus," said Hermione. "Now, what did you..."

"When did he learn to transform?" asked James excitedly. "What's his Marauder name?"

"He learnt in the middle of his third year," answered Hermione. "He made secret copies of the notes you and Mr Black made, and did a lot of extra reading. And he doesn't have a Marauder name. He thinks, as do I, that your little gang was a bunch of arrogant and infantile bullies. With the possible exception of Moony."

"We were young then," said James sheepishly.

"Harry is young _now_," countered Hermione. "Anyway. Try me. What did you want to tell him?"

"A bunch of apologies really," sighed James. "Everything he said to me today was right. He didn't give me any chance to listen to his explanations, but I never listened to his before."

"I see," she said slowly. "Would your explanations have been any good?"

James winced. "Mostly things like how I connected with his brother more, and had to spend time taking his brother to do media stuff, things like that. Paul is more like me, Harry like his mother."

"That would explain a lot," mused Hermione, "I always got the impression that Lily was the one with the brains. In any case, why did you want to apologize now, rather than, say, a month ago?"

"Well, Paul wrote home saying he was dating you, and he then got almost killed by his own housemates... is it any wonder? I'm an idiot, not a monster!"

"To a child, there's often little difference," she stated. "So now he's no longer a slimy Slytherin in your opinion? He is still proud of being a Slytherin, you know, of being ambitious and cunning. The only thing wrong with his House, in his and my opinion, is the Blood Purity myth. And people like the son you are so proud of - the Boy Who Lived to Think That The Sun Shines Out of His Rear Orifice - make me ashamed of being a Gryffindor."

"Paul isn't that bad."

Hermione snorted.

James stayed silent for several minutes. As did Mary. Hermione watched them.

"What do you want from him?" asked Hermione.

"Forgiveness would be nice, but I don't suppose I'll be getting that."

"Not for a while," agreed Hermione. "He's got a lot to get over. So do you, in a way."

"There's so much about him that I don't know. I know he's got a wonderful, loyal, intelligent and protective girlfriend, and that he's got an Animagus form. But I don't know what his favourite colour is. What his favourite novel is. What his favourite Quidditch move is. Or favourite food."

"Green. Ender's Game. Dunno. Pork pies. Write down your questions and Owl them to me. I'll write down what I think, offer them to him to read and change if he wants, and send them to you if he agrees."

"Would you do that?" James looked up, grateful. "Thank you!"

"He could use a father, I suppose. Not that he'd know what to do with one."

"You really enjoy rubbing it in, don't you?"

"You really deserve it."

"Fair enough. Any advice for me? What should I say in any letters I send to him?"

"There are probably tons of Muggle books written on the subject for regretful neglectful parents," said Hermione thoughtfully. "You could start there. Write him letters, but don't expect him to open them at once. Tell him about the little details in your life, and about your experiences here. Tell him about his mother. He would like that, actually, very much. I would suggest putting some memories of her in a Pensieve - he would appreciate the gesture, though I don't know if he would dare look at it himself."

Hermione saw Mary taking notes, and felt quite pleased with herself.

"Thank you Hermione. Anything I should not say?"

"I presume you're not dumb enough to talk of any pranks you pulled on Snape or the Slytherins. Snape's still furious with him because of you."

"What? I thought ..."

"I admit Snape treats Harry better than Paul. But Harry lives in Snape's House. Snape treated Harry like a bastard first year, but it mellowed to a truce after he became Seeker in second year."

"I see," sighed James again. "Anything else?"

"Well," said Hermione. "I am curious about one thing. How did Harry's mother die?"

"Ah," said James, his face paling. "Vampires."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was many things. The most prominent leader in Magical Britain, defeater of Dark Lords, former ambassador of the Wizarding World to the Merpeople, twice winner of the All-England Ten Pin Bowling trophy, thrice winner of Witch Monthly's (it only became a weekly in 1949) Most Gentlemanly Smirk, mentor of the Boy Who Lived. 

And Headmaster.

Headmasters had to deal with hormonal teenagers and interhouse rivalry.

Teenagers were mostly predictable.

The two sitting in front of him were not.

On the left was Hermione Jane Granger. Brilliant Muggleborn witch, right up there with Lily Evans. Professional Bookworm and Rule Enforcer. Future Headgirl, easily. The perfect Ravenclaw.

Minerva, Severus, and other professors had provided Pensieve memories of the days while he was in Bulgaria. And now he was beginning to understand why Granger had been placed in his old house Gryffindor instead.

"Told you," said the frayed Sorting Hat. Apparently Granger had been giving Floppy death glares worthy of Lily Evans. "I told you, Hermione Granger, that you would have been worthy of any house. Except Slytherin, but that is _only_ because of the pureblood requirement."

"Then why not put me in Ravenclaw like I asked you to," hissed the girl. She had, interestingly enough, completely forgotten to ask permission from the Headmaster to speak to Floppy. Not that he particularly minded, but it went against what her reputation suggested.

"Ah, but only a Gryffindor would have asked me to do so, Miss Granger," replied Floppy unconcernedly. "A true Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff would have just blindly accepted whatever I said."

"At least the Ravenclaws would not have treated me like pond scum for three years," cried the frustrated girl. "Oooh," she squealed in a faux high toned voice, "there goes the little bookworm! Going for a date with the books again, Hermione? No boy will ever pay attention to you if you like books so much!"

Albus' eyes widened slightly. Perhaps a talk to his old house was in order. Being a bookworm was not a crime worthy of ostracism. Even a bossy bookworm, as Hermione's reputation said she was. Beside, all the teasing was rather ironic, given her recently revealed secret.

"It's my job to Sort students into the House where they would do best," said Floppy, "not to place them where they would be happiest."

Granger would have said some more, but then the third human occupant of the room placed his hands on her arm and squeezed it.

Harry James Potter. Brother of the Boy Who Lived. The first Potter in Slytherin for 124 years. Seeker. A decent student, though probably smarter than his grades indicated. Quiet. Reserved. Probably neglected by his family in favour of his sibling, if all the signs could be believed.

Capable of maintaining a secret relationship with a Muggleborn student while in the most paranoid house.

Capable of pulling off a task rarely attempted in Hogwarts history - causing a Malfoy to lose support within his own house. Admittedly, Draco Malfoy was the most stupid Malfoy Albus could remember, but an interesting point nevertheless.

"I would like to know why you did not bring this evidence to me directly, Mr Potter," asked Albus Dumbledore.

"We did not believe it would be adequate evidence to have Malfoy and company punished enough," said Harry. "His father's influence will prevent any major punitive action being taken by Hogwarts or the Ministry. Hermione's research found that Scrying devices are not considered completely reliable witnesses in any Ministry court. We were aiming for a guilty verdict in the court of public opinion, Professor."

Albus Dumbledore had often wondered why Harry Potter had been sorted into Slytherin. The boy maintained a low profile outside Quidditch, and his antics while chasing the Snitch were definitely Gryffindor. Now he was beginning to understand.

"And do you think you succeeded?" the Headmaster asked.

"Outside Slytherin, yes. Dunno about the other two schools. In Slytherin, I believe most students believe the evidence, but no-one will ever admit to to it."

"That is not what I heard from Professor Snape, Mister Potter."

"I would be surprised it it was," replied Harry. "Snape barely tolerates me, and he's in Malfoy's pocket. Most Slytherin students cannot afford to get on the bad side of his father's opinion, since they are stuck in the Wizarding world after they leave Hogwarts."

"And you?"

"Hermione and I are seriously considering the possibility of disappearing into the Muggle world after school."

Curiouser and curiouser, thought the old Wizard.

"You will not be punished for your actions in the Great Hall, Mr Potter," he said. "As Miss Granger so adroitly pointed out, your actions were completely legal."

They nodded and muttered their thanks.

"Is rule enforcement in Hogwarts so unfair that you feel that fair enforcement deserves gratitude?" he asked, genuinely curious. He had suspected for some time that he had been neglecting his duties as Headmaster.

Hermione fidgeted, and seemed to suddenly found the portraits of the old Headmasters very interesting.

Harry was looking at him like he was making a joke.

"I see," he said, all his hundred and fifty years suddenly making themselves felt. He reached out for a lemon drop, and chucked it in his mouth. Even the Chief Mugwump of the Wizengamot could use comfort food.

* * *

"HE WHAT?" cried Blaise. Padma and Terry were with him, as they had waited for Harry and Hermione at the end of Professor Vector's class. 

"Yeah," said Harry, scratching his shoulder. "He gave Gryffindor and Slytherin fifty points each for - what was it again, Mione?"

"Pointing out the overdue need for Hogwarts reform," said Hermione, looking at her fingernails as if wishing she hadn't cut them the previous day. It was difficult to bite short fingernails.

"Cor!" exclaimed Terry.

"I second the cor," said Padma, nodding to her boyfriend.

"What do you think this means?" asked Blaise.

Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged.

"I suppose we should thank you," said Terry. "There are lots of things that could use changing around here. At least that's what my dad says. He's always complaining about how he wishes he had a proper history teacher when he was here. Binns is such a waste of space."

"And revamping the Muggle Studies lessons," said Padma, deciding that this was not the time to point out that ghosts didn't occupy any space.

"And allowing us to play football," said Hermione, recalling the happy days she and her father spent in central Hyde Park kicking a spherical ball around. She considered herself a decent defender herself, even if it was mostly due to the fact that no-one ever expected her to _tackle_ anyone. She smirked, absently recalling the older boy whom she had sent to the hospital with a fractured ankle. And she'd got the ball as well, making it a legal tackle.

"Earth to Hermione, come in Hermione," said Blaise, waving his hand in front of her. She smacked it down.

"You really ought to get medical insurance, Potter," yipped Blaise, shaking his hand out. "Your girlfriend is dangerous. And a menace to innocent little boys."

Padma snorted, muttering something about the improbability of Blaise Zabini ever being 'innocent'. Terry chuckled. Hermione put her head in her hands. Harry gave his girlfriend a one-armed hug, just like she'd trained him to.

"We should make a list," said Padma, "of all the things we would like changed, and take them to Dumbledore. He seemed pretty out of touch, and it would allow him to make a start."

"Ooh, yes!" cried Hermione to no-one's surprise. "And we should explain the reasons for each change."

"Why explain?" asked Harry.

"Because soon other people will notice," explained Hermione, "and they will give him suggestions. Not everyone's suggestions will agree."

"Good point," said Terry. "How much explanation?"

"Depends on the suggestion," shrugged Blaise. "It will need more explanations if it's something someone will agree to. Or if it's something that needs a lot of effort on his part."

"A neutral table in the Great Hall would be nice," said Harry. "I'm tired of checking that my food and drink hasn't been poisoned."

"Like that will stop you," said Blaise. "You're the most paranoid git I know, Potter."

"You taught me, Zabini," said Harry.

"Yes, but that's only after Bulstrode tried to slip me a love potion," concluded Blaise. "Come on, it's time for DADA."

"Bulstrode?" asked Harry as they split up and the two Slytherins walked to the vampire's lesson. "I thought it was Crabbe."

"Shut it, Potty mouth," replied Blaise. "You're just jealous 'coz I can swing both ways and you can't."

* * *

The news that Albus Dumbledore had hired a vampire to teach children at Hogwarts was met by the Wizarding public with the expected amounts of derision, scorn, gasps of incredulity, and accusations of senility. 

The only accusation that the old Headmaster agreed with was that of being a 'batty confection-loving bastard'. That was true enough, considering his father had died (slipped on a banana peel and broke his neck in a prisoner of war camp) before he could marry his mother.

Those close to the Headmaster pressed him for reasons. His answers made them feel like angels for refusing to succumb to the temptation of lacing his lemon drops with Bundimum acid.

_"Albus! How could you possibly hire her?" asked Minerva McGonagall. _

_"She's very qualified," replied the batty confection-loving bastard. "Near the top of her class at the Balkan Institute for Defence. And she never drinks human blood without the human's permission." _

_"So she does drink human blood!" shouted Snape. _

_"Yes, but she's not a danger to students," replied Albus calmly. _

_"But what about the Ministry? And the School Board?" asked McGonagall. _

_"She said Lucius Malfoy owes her a life debt. He made sure his allies did not block her appointment." _

_"WHAT?" yelled Snape. _

_"Feel free to ask Lucius, Severus. But don't expect him to admit to it." _

The early DADA lessons were met with trepidation by the students. Both Muggle-raised and Magic-raised had grown up on scary vampire stories, and the first two weeks were spent with Crina Vanescu explaining the myths and truths about her heritage.

But now they had moved on to Curses and Hexes, and things settled down. Competent DADA teachers were, after all, nothing to be scoffed at.

Hermione wondered about how Harry would take the news that his mother was killed by vampires. He hoped he would not take it out on the Defence teacher.

* * *

"Malfoy." 

It was lunch time in the Great Hall, and Angelina Johnson stood at the Slytherin table in front of the Slytherin Quidditch captain.

"Johnson," replied Draco, remaining seated.

"One of our students has suggested that we form an unofficial student-run Quidditch League this year," she stated in her loud, clear voice. "I wanted to find out if Slytherin was interested in joining."

"What?" asked Draco, the trained mask of his emotions slipping for a moment. Then he smiled, and was all courteous again. "Please, sit down. Your proposition does sound interesting."

Angelina sat down, and explained the idea. Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw captain, and Diggory had already approached Beauxbatons and Durmstrang respectively, and the two schools had eagerly agreed. She mentioned this as well. When she had finished, the Great Hall was alit with excited murmurs and discussions.

"This is an excellent idea of yours!" exclaimed Draco, genuinely enthusiastic.

"Ah, but it's not my idea," replied the tall black witch. "It's Hermione Granger's. In Muggle schools, students often organize their own activities, which is why she thought of it."

"Ah," said Draco. It was a Lose-Lose proposition. Either way, he lost face. If he refused to let Slytherin provide a team, he would be blamed by its Quidditch fanatics - which was the majority of the house. If he agreed, he would be agreeing to a Muggle idea. Perhaps there was a way around this, perhaps sabotaging the whole league.

"I am sorry, but..." began Draco.

"Oh, one more thing!" said Angelina, suddenly remembering something. "Diggory, Davies and I have already booked the Quidditch Pitch for the rest of the year, except when the Tournament isn't using it."

Damn, thought Draco. "I will need some time to think about it," he said.

"What is so difficult to decide, Malfoy?" asked Angelina, suddenly whipping out the no-nonsense face that she used to keep the Weasley twins in line at Quidditch practices. "Being decisive is highly valued in Slytherin, is it not?"

Draco sighed. This really had not been a good week for him. First his father had sent him a Pincher for getting caught beating Potter up, and now Potter's friends had hatched a plot to humiliate him. He gave up, and remembered the number of times his father had managed to pretend to tolerate those with stupid ideas for the sake of a higher goal.

"We will be _delighted_ to participate in the League, Johnson."

"Changing your mind so quickly?" asked the witch sitting across him. "Are you so spineless that you first decide to wait for tomorrow, and when a poor ol' witch like me gives you a prod, you fail to consult with your teammates and make a decision all at once? Your ancestors would be turning in their graves if they saw you behave like this!"

Argh! Draco could not handle this any more. He drew his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

He turned, and saw Harry Potter with his wand.

"Merlin, Draco!" said the bespectacled Slytherin Seeker. "Do restrain yourself. Have you not disgraced our House enough? Haven't you learnt enough about attacking people when there are witnesses? In front of other schools, no less."

"What would you know about House loyalty, Potter? Consorting with Mudbl..."

"Don't use that word, Malfoy!" hissed Potter with a look of horror, and turning to the Head Table. "Do you want McGonagall to take points off us?"

Potter turned, and looked across at the tables that had been set up for the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students, and spoke, "I am _so_ sorry you had to witness this. I'm afraid our Quidditch captain is not trained in the finest Pureblood tradition of diplomacy that is our..."

Draco Malfoy was about to lunge at Potter, but Pansy Parkinson managed to hold his arm long enough for him to come to his senses. He turned to Angelina.

"You have the gratitude of Slytherin for inviting us, Johnson. But I regret you will have us at a disadvantage. You see, our regular Seeker - Potter here - will be participating in the Triwizard Tournament, and needs to devote all his attention to that. Therefore he will not be competing."

"Oh!" Angelina's face visibly fell, and Draco could barely hide the smirk. She managed to recover after a few moments. "I suppose that will certainly make it a lot easier for us to beat you lot this year, so I should be grateful."

Draco smiled, and they shook hands. Angelina left for the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was looking shocked as well and writing in her two-way notebook, _'I didn't know Angelina and Bertha could act so well!'_

* * *

Harry and Hermione were walking to Charms the next day when they were accosted by a clique of Beauxbatons students. One of them, a blonde that Hermione whispered to Harry was the French Champion, stepped forward. 

"Good morning," said the girl. "My name is Fleur Delacour, the Champion from Beauxbatons."

"Hello," said Harry, "my name is Harry Potter. And this is my girlfriend, Hermione Granger."

"Enchante", said Hermione, "Nous sommes très heureux de vous rencontrer."

"She is much smarter than me," Harry added in a loud conspiratorial whisper. Some of the girls in the French contingent giggled, and gave Hermione envious glances. Others checked Harry out. "I also wish to apologize."

"Apologize, Monsieur Potter?" asked Fleur.

"For this whole tournament business," he replied. "I should not be there. I don't know why my name was entered, let alone chosen. All I know is that I can't withdraw myself."

Fleur was surprised, and said as much. Harry looked at Hermione, who started to explain for him.

"I've looked at the past records for the tournament," said Hermione. "Each tournament has three tasks. On average, a person dies every sixth task, and a person is seriously injured nearly every other task. We're fourteen year olds. I do not want my boyfriend in danger like that! I have enough trouble watching him getting hurt playing Quidditch!"

Fleur winced, and another of the Beauxbatons students stepped forward.

"I must apologize then, Mademoiselle Granger, for what we are about to ask," he said. "Monsieur Potter, I am Jean Demaitre, the Captain of the unofficial Beauxbatons Quidditch team. We are lacking our Seeker, as she is busy in France preparing herself for her..." He halted, and looked at one of his teammates.

"The equivalent of your OWLs," said the teammate, a raven-haired boy with a goatee.

"Merci Aaron," said Demaitre with a nod. "Monsieur Potter, we lack a Seeker and you are a Seeker who is not flying for his House. Would you be interested in playing for us?"

"There will not be much training for you," added the boy called Aaron. "Twice a week, at most. We know you will be busy."

Hermione looked at Harry, to indicate publicly that it was his decision. Actually, they had already talked about the decision earlier, and decided that this if this option turned up, it would be easier to deal with than forming a Rest of Hogwarts team.

"I will be honoured to join you," said Harry.

The Beauxbatons contingent cheered quietly, and there was much backslapping. Hermione frowned at some of the female attention Harry was getting, and Fleur sidled close to her.

"Don't worry about them," said Delacour. "I think it will be impossible for them to take him from you."

"I know that," replied Hermione, even though she was a tad insecure about it. "But do _they_ know that?"

"I can tell them, if you like," offered Fleur.

"Yes!" hissed Hermione. And then she shook herself. "Wait, maybe not. I'm new to all this. What would you advise?"

"You trust him, non?"

"Bien sur," replied Hermione, slipping into French.

"Alors, let it go. They will realize he is yours, and give up. I can tell you that some of my schoolmates are, how do you say, checking you out?"

Hermione noticed that that was indeed the case, and that her rather embarassed boyfriend was getting back to her. She gave him a kiss, which he was quick to reciprocate.

Fleur smirked, and Hermione smiled at her.

"Perhaps you both can join us at our table for dinner tonight?" asked Demaitre.

"We'd be delighted," said Harry, and the two parties split up.

"Flitwick is going to make everything we eat today taste like into onion-flavoured candy floss," sighed Hermione, looking at her watch.

* * *

_A/N: Someone really ought to write a one-shot where Hermione teaches Harry how to hug. Even in this universe, he doesn't know how to do it very well, with Lily gone. _

_One reviewer asked me not to run episodes together. Are ruled lines inadequate? _

_Pinchers are like Howlers but more painful and silent. _

_I presume analog watches work at Hogwarts.  
_


	3. Undead Parents and Lecherous Teddy Bears

_A/N: Reader response to this fic has been beyond my expectations. After just two chapters, the number of C2s and alerts are double that of my 12-chapter Breakout fic. Any idea why? _

_Some readers have anticipated some 'issues' with Lily Potter, and one reader (thank you IP82!) pointed out three or four things that made a very direct impact on this chapter. Several readers asked if Harry or Paul was the Boy Who Lived. For now I'll just say that Harry does not think he is the Boy Who Lived. _

* * *

Harry and Hermione sat in a corner of the library, discussing the first task. 

Harry had said nothing about his father's visit, and Hermione was debating whether to press him or not.

"I will talk about it, you know," said Harry suddenly. "Just not now."

Hermione stiffened. "I'm sorry," she said, "I just don't know what to do or say!".

She leaned into him. He kissed her forehead, and made knots in her hair. She smacked his hand, and all was well in the universe. For a short while.

"I made a mistake today," said Hermione. "And you're going to be very angry with me."

Harry stiffened. "I'll try not to be."

Hermione bit her lip, the fear in her eyes evident. "I told James you were an eagle Animagus." And then she cringed from him, as a betrayed expression spread across his face.

"How could you?" he asked. "I trusted you with that!"

"I'm sorry," she said, putting her head in her hands as he stormed out of the room.

* * *

Harry flew over the Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest, looking for any signs of preparation that could do with the upcoming First Task. Hermione - who he trying hard not to think of at the moment - had spent a lot of time looking over lists of previous tasks with him. Some had included Dragons, others Acromantulas, and one rather ill fated task had involved Nundus. If there were large dangerous creatures involved, then there would be preparation required. And preparations could be spotted. 

But so far, he had spotted nothing after several hours of flying, and it was dark.

He supposed that it wasn't really that big a deal for her to tell his father that Harry had become an Animagus. Legality was not a concern, since Harry was actually registered. Hermione, who had insisted on him doing things legally, had found a loophole in the regulations that meant that anyone registered in Switzerland did not have to register in Britain.

But that still didn't make it right for her to tell James about his form, did it? He did not think so. His secrets were important.

He landed near the Quidditch Pitch, and turned back into a human. He sighed, and prepared to walk to the dungeons. He would see Hermione tomorrow, and ask her why she had betrayed his trust. Was it an honest mistake, or...

"Mr Potter." The voice was soft and feminine. And inhuman.

He was already crouched in a standard dueling position, ready to strike. His shields were up, though not to their maximum extent.

"Who are you?" he shouted, keeping his tone even.

"Professor Vanescu." The vampire stepped out of the shadows, and watched him. She transfigured a table and two chairs. It was a round stone table, the kind often found in outdoor courtyards. "I would like to talk for a while, if this is acceptable." Her voice betrayed no emotion.

"I have to get back to Slytherin," he said, backing off. Memories of Mary's approaches were coming to mind rather quickly. "Snape will kill me."

"Professor Snape."

"He'll kill me as well."

She gave a short laugh. "I am sure you have a dozen ways of avoiding his clutches. I have some news about your mother."

"What?" he cried, flustered. His wand was still out, and pointing at her. "She's dead!"

"Yes," replied the DADA professor. "But that doesn't mean she's not alive and kicking. Well, kicking at any rate."

"What? How can she be dead and ... your people killed her!"

"I suppose that is technically true," she said, motioning to him to take a seat. "One does die when one is turned."

"Eh?"

"Sit down, Mr Potter."

He did not sit down.

"Please."

He enlarged the table and sat down as far from her as possible. His wand was still aimed at her face.

She laughed again. "I won't hurt you. That's the last thing I'd like to do. And remind me to give you a list of spells that actually work on vampires."

"What do you want?"

"To tell you about your mother."

"How do I know I can believe you?"

"You will. And you can call me Crina out of class, if you wish."

Eight years of longing for his maternal parent crashed down on Harry. More accurately, a year of longing, four years of suppressing such longing, another year of subconsciously thinking of Hermione as a maternal surrogate, and two more years of not feeling the need for another woman in his life.

"Why did she leave me?"

Crina winced, and he could see the look of hurt and sadness on her face.

"She made a mistake. Other people kept you from her. She was ashamed. She made more mistakes. She has worked very hard to be able to see you again. She would like to return to your life, if you will have her."

"She's a vampire, isn't she?" said Harry. He was still trying to dodge the informational bludgers she had just hurled at him. But they were refusing to leave him alone.

"Yes."

"And you know her."

"Yes."

He transformed again, and flew to the castle.

* * *

Blaise was in the Slytherin dormitory. It was actually the third year dormitory, where he and Harry had been allowed to move to by Dumbledore against Snape's wishes. 

Draco and his goons had received a stern lecture from the Headmaster, but no punishment. After all, there was a possibility that the imagery was faked. Dumbledore believed in 'innocent until proven guilty', and did not want to set a precedent or encourage the use of Scrying Charms. They had been, after all, banned in Hogwarts since 1732. The Headmaster had not, however, punished Harry for using them.

Blaise supposed that was an acceptable compromise, though he was still very angry about it. At least it had lost Draco substantial political capital within Slytherin.

It had been three days since Harry and Hermione had argued. His male friend had been walking down in an angry tizz, his magic flickering around him in a black cloak. Any doubts amongst the student body about whether Harry was too young and magically immature to participate in the Tournament had been quashed.

Unfortunately, any attempts to talk with Harry had also been met with severe resistance. From anyone. Almost anyone - Blaise had been told by the Beauxbatons Quidditch team that Harry had been fairly pleasant, though aloof, when practising with them. But that was it.

Blaise hoped, for Harry's sake, that the First Task involved blasting things and creating loud explosions.

Hermione had not been much better. He did not talk to her directly, because he did not want Harry - or anyone else - to think that Blaise was coming between Hermione and him during a temporary break in their relationship. And it had to be temporary, even with the way Harry was behaving. It was hard to believe that Potter's abysmal mood was due to anything Hermione had said - there had to be more to it.

Padma had been acting as an intermediary, and had said that Hermione was very upset. The Ravenclaw had had trouble trying to get the brunette to say anything, but had found that Hermione had revealed one of Harry's secrets to his father.

Blaise figured that it must have been one hell of a secret.

Harry burst in to the room and slammed the door. The walls shook. Blaise decided it was a good time to pretend he was sleeping.

* * *

Paul Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was in a bad mood. People were not paying attention to him, and a number of those who were were laughing at the way he had been stunned by his brother in the Great Hall. 

Harry. What was he doing, dating Hermione Granger? It would all end in tears, Paul knew. Granger was being led along - the poor girl was so desperate for male attention that she would fall for any boy who talked to her. He supposed Harry had told her she was pretty, along with a bunch of other lies. Harry had never spoken up for her when other Slytherins had called her a Mudblood, had he?

In contrast, Ron Weasley had punched for Slytherins her when they called her that vile name. Could she not see that that meant Ron was paying attention to her? True, his friend did suffer from a bad case of foot-in-mouth disease whenever he talked to her, but that was a sign of true love, wasn't it? Granger read books - hadn't she read the ones that said that when a boy insults a girl, it was a sign he liked her?

And the Tournament. How had Harry got his name in the Goblet? Paul had even managed to get his own name into the Tournament, by directing a charmed paper aeroplane with his name on it into the cup. And the bloody tumbler had picked Harry's name over that of the Boy Who Lived!

Dumbledore said Paul was special. Dumbledore had never said Harry was special. It made no sense.

The attack on his brother had been odd. Paul had gone to see him in the infirmary a few times, but Granger and Zabini were always there, and he hadn't wanted to talk to them.

And now Harry was walking around the castle with a face like a thundercloud, surrounded by a menacing aura that scared the shit out of everyone. And he had left Granger in tears. (And the pathetic girl still refused to speak a civil word to Weasley.)

Harry was using Dark Magic. It was obvious. Harry was jealous of his attention, and had decided to learn Dark Magic and enter the Tournament. And now it was consuming him. Sirius had explained this to Paul several times before, about how Dark Magic tempted its users into using it and that it resulted in them losing their souls.

Harry was Paul's brother, and Paul would save him. It was his fraternal duty, after all. And Granger would be freed, and Ron could have her.

And _everyone_ would love him again. But that was just a bonus.

* * *

"Nice work, Mr Zabini," said Flitwick, flicking his wand at the errant fluffed toy that was in love with his left leg. "But I do not believe you heard my instructions correctly." 

The normally stoic Slytherins had lost all sense of decorum. Even Harry was smiling slightly.

Today's lesson was Charming teddy bears to display 'appropriate animate behaviour'. Humping the leg of targeted individuals was decidedly inappropriate, and Flitwick knew he would be providing the countercharm to all faculty members the moment this lesson finished.

Though perhaps he would fail to bump into Severus until the next day.

Blaise was still suffering from intermittent attacks of the giggles ten minutes after Flitwick had sent the lecherous teddy to the basket containing its more harmless counterparts at the front of the classroom.

* * *

Hermione heard about the teddy bear attack a few hours later. She was at the same spot in the library where the argument had happened, where she had stayed so that Harry would know where to find her. Why was he so angry? How many other girls had thrown themselves at him? Would he break up with her? 

"Can we talk?" asked Harry. The cloud of anger around him had dissipated somewhat, and she thought he might be nervous. Which was ridiculous, of course. Besides, there was no way he could be more nervous than she was.

"Yes, please," she said, after she had recovered from the surprise of seeing him. "I'm really sorry, Harry." She didn't know what else to say. She could think of lots of things she would like to say, but choosing between them was difficult.

"I'm sorry, too," he added.

She shivered. Was he sorry for what he was about to do, breaking off their relationship?

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," she said.

"Why did you tell him?" he asked.

"I .. er .. made a list." She took a folder out of her bag, and began perusing through it.

"A list?" asked Harry, bewildered.

"A list of reasons why I told him," she replied, having found the appropriate piece of parchment. She gave it to him, her hands trembling.

Harry looked at it.

"Holy Mother of Morgana!" he cried.

He was laughing! He was laughing! She felt the weight in her chest lighten. He walked over to her with a smile, and she was sobbing into his shoulders and saying that she would never do it again and no she probably would do it again because she was a human and would he still keep forgiving her and would he ever leave her and she was sorry she was a bookworm and had bad hair and couldn't control what she said and ...

"I missed you, Mione," he said, kissing her bad hair. "Forgive me? And I'm not leaving you. I'm stupid, but not _that_ stupid."

She stopped sniffing and looked up at him.

"Thanks, Harry," she said. "But I made the mistake. You have nothing to be sorry about."

"I wasn't angry at you," he admitted. "Well, I was, but that's just a part of it. Something else happened."

"Oh," she said, and sat down. She motioned him to take the opposite seat, and he began explaining his encounter with the DADA professor.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. She was starting to get angry with him, and tried to stop it. She didn't want to argue again. But she did smack him on the head.

"Ow," he said.

"That's for not telling me and leaving me in hell for three days! Do you know how much sleep I've gotten?"

"More than I have?"

She calmed down a bit.

"Your mother is alive," she said, trying to turn her mind to the intellectual problem. "She is a vampire. Professor Vanescu knows her. And your mother wants to talk to you."

"Yes," he replied. "And you're going to tell me to talk to her, aren't you?"

She did not bother denying it. "Why would you not want to talk to her?"

"She's dead, Hermione. I've spent the last few years building up a life without her, and I'm comfortable now. Why would I want to change that?"

"Because she's your mother and loves you?"

"If she loves me, then why wouldn't she send me any letters?"

"Erm," she replied. "Maybe other people stopped the letters. Maybe she was in prison and couldn't send any letters. Maybe she was so ashamed of being a vampire that she couldn't say anything to you. Maybe she thought your family wouldn't treat you like a carpet. How would I know?"

"Oooh, the great Hermione Granger admits she doesn't know something!"

She gave him another smack on the head, with more force than was necessary.

"OW! That really hurt!"

"Sorry," she replied, not sounding particularly apologetic. He glared at her, and they both stared in silence for a while.

"Perhaps we should talk about this later."

"Yeah."

"We can talk about something else now."

"Yeah."

"How about the first task?"

"Yeah."

"I've been adding to our list of possible tasks. Padma and Blaise made some suggestions too. Would you like to go over them?"

"Yeah," he said. He looked at his watch. "Not right now, though. I've got Quidditch practice with the Frenchies in twenty minutes."

"Want me to come and watch?"

"I'd like that," he said. "And thank you for the list."

"Which one?"

"List**s**."

As she gathered her books and papers, Harry told her about Blaise's teddy-aided attack on Flitwick. They laughed as they left the library, and word spread that the Slytherin Potter was no longer a walking time bomb.

* * *

Harry's clique of friends spent the week before the tournament preparing him for it. Harry decided, now that Hermione had let the Kneazle out of the cage, that he might as well let others know about his Animagus form. Blaise and the Ravenclaw couple had been most impressed by the revelation. Blaise had immediately embarked on a verbal voyage of discovery into the world of avian jokes and insults. 

The teachers left them off the hook during lessons, even Snape. Harry figured that that his success would bring glory to Slytherin, and Snape did not hate Harry enough to get in the way of that.

Harry did get a few more weird nightmares like the ones he had received during the summer before school began, but those stopped once he began sharing Hermione's bed. Blaise remarked on the advances in interhouse relationships that could be achieved with the aid of an airborne Animagus form and an Invisibility Cloak. Terry said he and Padma would also do some joint research of their own on the effects of cuddling on sleep patterns. Padma had said 'In your dreams, bootlicker' but hadn't sounded like she would stay aloof from such research. Though she had smacked him when he had offered his opinion of who the Boot licker really was.

Harry brushed up on Summoning Charms, Blasting Hexes, Freezing Charms, self levitation (in case there were anti-Animagus wards), duelling, invisibility spells, illusions, and even Potions - Hermione had found that a few of the tasks in previous tournaments were brewing contests. They had also investigated the possibilities of creating telepathic links, but this had proved unsuccessful. Hermione was rather relieved by that, since she thought that that would be more cheating than she could handle.

"But you don't have any objections to me flying around the forest looking for clues!" cried Harry, as he tried to understand her views on inappropriate assistance during the Tournament.

"That's called reconaissance," she replied, "not cheating."

There were other disturbances as well. Rumours were spreading through the school about the Slytherin Potter. Cedric Diggory, who had been fairly neutral about Harry's unexpected entry into the tournament, approached them one day and suggested that they put a stop to the rumours. This was just after his Hufflepuff team had defeated Slytherin in the first unofficial Quidditch match of the year.

"Hello Cedric," said Hermione. "Nice catch!"

"Yes," added Harry. "I loved the look on Malfoy's face when you caught the Snitch. And it's not like you're practising as much as he is!"

"Thanks," replied Cedric, "Though that was his first match as Seeker. He's a good Chaser, you know. What I'm really looking forward to is the look on his face when Slytherin plays you Frenchies."

Harry's eyes shut for several moments as his face adopted an expression normally associated with a monk entering Nirvana.

"Oy Potter!" said Hermione, lightly punching his arm. "Get back down here!"

"Um?" asked Harry, returning to earth.

Cedric laughed. "Look," said the Hufflepuff Seeker. "Cho and I have been talking. We don't like all the rumours that have been spreading around the school about you. About you both. And we owe you with this idea of the Quidditch League. We have an idea to stop them."

"Oh?" prompted Hermione. She sounded more interested than Harry was. He supposed she was feeling protective of him.

Cedric explained.

"I think Blaise is going to love this," said Harry with a laugh once Cedric finished speaking.

"Come on," said Hermione excitedly, dragging her boyfriend to the library. "We have another list to make!"

* * *

Harry and Blaise walked to the House-neutral table that Dumbledore had recently placed in the Great Hall. Hermione, Cedric, Cho, Padma, and Terry were already there, chomping on breakfast. Cedric and Terry appeared to be having a bacon-eating contest, much to their partners' disgust and chagrin. There were some other students at the table, but they were sitting at the other end of it. 

"I thought punctuality was a Slytherin trait," said Cho, passing the toast to Blaise while Hermione gave Harry a non-verbal welcome.

"Guests of honour are always fashionably late," retorted Blaise, lifting the toast in thanks.

"I think I'm having hearing problems," said Padma. "I heard Zabby here say he's honourable."

"Zabby?" said Zabini, scandalized.

"Zab-Zab sounds better," added Harry. "At least Bulstrode thinks so!"

"I didn't know Bulstrode liked guys," said Padma.

"So what if she does?" asked Terry. "And whether she is or not, we shouldn't be teasing her because she's got muscles and stuff!"

Everyone else at the table looked at Terry like he'd grown horns.

"What?" said Terry. "I just don't understand why girls should be teased if they've got the physical build of a guy. Or vice versa, I suppose. One of my cousins is like her, and she's always getting teased about it."

Guilty glances began to appear across the table.

"You're a good man, Terry," said Cedric.

"Not really," said the Ravenclaw. "If it wasn't for my cousin, I'd be teasing her as well. Anyway - I think we've got a full audience now. Should we get the show started?"

"Yes," said Hermione slowly. I made copies of the list of rumours Harry and Blaise and I made last night, in case anyone had any trouble thinking of what to allege." She handed out duplicated forms.

"See, Cedric?" said Cho, smacking the back of her boyfriend's head. "I told you we should have made a list!"

"Feel free to make anything up, though," added Harry.

"Are we allowed to tell the truth?" asked Blaise.

"I realize it may be difficult for you," said Harry solemnly, "but yes, you're allowed to tell the truth. Especially if it's outrageous." Blaise whispered something to Harry.

"Okay, not that bit of truth," replied Harry.

Harry could see the enquiring looks around the table and realized that he had made a mistake in saying that aloud. He whispered a quick word to Hermione, who made an 'o' with her lips.

"Alright, I made a mistake. I'll tell you since you've all stood by us," said Harry, placing an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "But this is going to cause some discussion between us, and we may need to postpone our show to dinner tonight."

There was silence for a while. The three Ravenclaws and single Hufflepuff looked at Harry, while Hermione and Blaise looked at them. Harry looked at his plate, and wondered if the scrambled eggs on it came from chickens or some more exotic creature.

"Perhaps I should explain," said Hermione. Harry looked at her, surprised. She looked back at him with a Trust Me expression. He nodded. "Harry here has an ability shared by Merlin, Salazar Slytherin, and Helga Hufflepuff."

"Helga?" asked Harry, his mouth open. "She wasn't a -"

"Yes she was," replied Hermione, "I read a book about it. And then I checked with the Fat Friar."

"Oh," replied Harry, "but why didn't you -"

"Sorry to interrupt," said Cedric, "but we really would like to know what you two are talking about."

"I'm a Pa -"

"Stop!" hissed Hermione. Harry did so, while she placed silencing wards around their section of the table.

"Merlin, Granger!" said Boot. "Is Harry the love-child of You-Know-Who or something?"

"No," replied Harry, "that would be my brother. Thanks for putting the wards, Mione. We'll certainly need them."

"Yeah," added Blaise, "I bet two sickles that Patil's going to squeal like a boy with his balls blasted off."

Harry, Terry and Cedric winced. Padma brightened up visibly as she added the feminist-sounding phrase to her mental lexicon.

"Go on, Harry," said Hermione. "I've done my bit."

He nodded. "I'm a Parselmouth."

Padma squealed, and Blaise punched the air in triumph before remembering that he hadn't actually got anyone to take up the bet.

"What!" said Cedric, pushing himself from the table slightly. Then he remembered what Hermione had said about Hufflepuff, and dragged himself back to the table. Besides, Cho had a very firm grip on his collar.

"Watch it, Diggory!" she hissed. "My grandmother was a Parselmouth!"

"Really?" asked Hermione, learning forward.

"Speaking to snakes is more common in China than in Britain," the Ravenclaw Seeker explained. "My ancestors viewed snakes as having the traits required to run a good business."

Cedric opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped. "I'm sorry, Harry. Sorry, Cho. This goes against a lot I've been told about. Give me some time, please."

"And tell us about Helga!" said Padma, looking to Hermione.

"I read about this in a book about Parselmouths that's in the library. I'll get it for you if you like. Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin were second cousins - Hufflepuff was her husband's name. She said Parseltongue was very useful for keeping her garden free of rats."

"My Founder asked snakes to take care of her rodent problem?" asked Cedric, shocked.

"Don't forget Merlin," said Terry, looking at Diggory. "But there's something I don't get here. I thought being a Parselmouth was hereditary, so how did Harry here become one?"

"And what do snakes talk about?" asked Padma. Cho looked very interested in that question as well.

"I have no idea why I'm one," said Harry honestly.

"It's possible that previous Potters were Parselmouths and were too embarassed to admit it," speculated Hermione. Diggory nodded to that, understanding the pressures in old Light Pureblood families.

"I've not talked to snakes much," admitted Harry. "I mostly tell them not to bite me, and then they see me as a really big snake and run off."

"_Run_ off?"

"Shut it, Blaise. _Slither_ off."

"I'm sorry to have to say this," remarked Cedric. "But this could be really bad for you, Harry. Reputation-wise."

"British customs are so stupid compared to Chinese ones," muttered Cho.

"We do treat our witches better," her boyfriend pointed out.

"Which is why I found it so easy to get on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team," retorted Cho.

"They don't like girls to play Quidditch in Ravenclaw?" asked Hermione, horrified.

"They don't," said Cho bitterly, "I'm the first female player in a decade. And the first female Seeker in two hundred years. It's completely ridiculous. Look at Gryffindor - all their Chasers are witches! Not to mention the Harpies. Ravenclaw is better than Slytherin, though. There's never been a female player in Quidditch there."

"Harry James Potter!" cried Hermione. "You never told me this!"

"I never realized it!" he said, holding his hands in front of him as a natural (and completely useless) defensive barrier.

"How could you not realize..." she exclaimed before Padma put a hand on her arm to calm her down.

"Relax, Hermione!" said her friend. "You can kick his butt later. If he deserves it. We've got other things to talk about now."

"She's right," said Terry. "We have to make a decision on whether to make this public or not."

"On how to make this public," muttered Cho, still sounding miffed at the general unfairness of the world she lived in.

"I thought it was my decision," said Harry stonily.

"It _is_ your decision," said Terry, "but it is the duty of friends to offer advice about choices that you can make your decision from. Isn't that what Hermione and Blaise do for you?"

"No, I'm just there for comic relief," said Blaise.

Harry said nothing, but seemed to be thinking about the Ravenclaw's words. Two months ago, he could only call Hermione, and to some extent Blaise, friends. Now his set of friends had suddenly expanded, and he wasn't sure what to do with it.

Fortunately for him, no-one said anything about that.

"Would it be alright if we offered some suggestions, Harry?" asked Terry quietly.

Harry nodded.

"Option One, then." Terry wrote on his parchment, the one with Hermione's duplicated list. "All of us shut up about all this. No-one ever finds out that you are a Parselmouth. The risk with this is that you have to hide a talent. If you have to hide something for the rest of your life, how is that much different from not having it? You will probably reveal your talent during some emergency, and then people will find out, and they will be suspicious of you because you've been hiding it."

Everyone understood why Terry Boot was in Ravenclaw. Even Cedric was leaning forward, his elbows firmly on the table.

"I begin to see your point," said Harry slowly.

"What's Option Two?" asked Hermione.

"Option Two," said Terry. "We tell everyone now."

"Now?" asked Harry, surprised.

"What if the emergency is the First Task, Harry? What if involves snakes?"

"Man, that will be a riot!" laughed Cho. "Imagine ... there's a cup in the middle of a pit of vipers, and the task is to get it. Everyone does all kinds of fancy stuff to do their task, and then you come along and politely ask the snakes to move aside! It will be hilarious!"

"I'm claiming unfair advantage right now," said Cedric. But he was smiling. "Go on, Terry."

"Right. Option Two. Go public as soon as possible. The problem with this is that, with all the rumours running around, this will _not_ be good. It's like Option One when the emergency turns up. Which brings us to Option Three."

"There's an Option Three?" asked Padma.

"Yes. Option Three is to do like Cho says things are in China. We need to prepare the ground first, to tell people that being a Parselmouth is not a bad thing. Then, when we feel it's safe, we start spreading the word that Harry's a Parselmouth."

"Spreading the word? Like Harry jumping up on the table and hissing a ballad?" asked Cho.

"Here's an example," said Terry, ignoring Cho's sarcasm. "Padma and Hermione can stage a conversation where Padma wishes there was a Parselmouth in the school so that she could do a research project on - I don't know - Runespoors. Then Hermione casually mentions that her boyfriend is one."

"And preparing the ground?" asked Cedric.

"You're actually in the best position to do that," said Terry, giving Cedric an evaluative look. "No-one suspects Hufflepuff of any Dark stuff. If you could stage a public conversation with the Fat Friar, asking him if Helga was a Parselmouth, then..."

Terry stopped speaking, as his girlfriend was busy snogging the living daylights out of him.

"I'll do it," said Cedric as they laughed at the liplocked Ravenclaws. "Can you point me to that book, Hermione?"

"Of course," replied the Gryffindor, writing down its title and author and passing the details to him.

"And thanks very much, Cedric," said Harry. "It's a great idea. Thank you, Terry. I'm very impressed. And Hermione, for knowing things like this." He proceeded to snog his girlfriend.

"Shouldn't you be giving your boyfriend breathing problems?" asked Blaise to Cho.

She gave Cedric a kiss on the cheek. "I'm not that used to public displays of affection," she explained. "And we're doing you a favour by not leaving you as the only single person here."

"I am?" asked Blaise, looking around as if he hadn't noticed it till then.

"Feel free to bring a charmed teddy bear next time to keep you company," smirked Cedric. "Look everyone, breakfast is nearly over. This has been extremely informative, but not what we planned. Harry was right - should we do the show at dinner?"

Everyone nodded.

"Thanks, all of you," said Harry. "And none of the rumours we will discuss will be about Parseltongue."

They stood up to go to classes. Blaise was the last to leave, as he had to finish making a sandwich with three slices of bread, half a dozen slices of fried tomato, eight rashers of bacon, two large chunks of scrambled egg, and no lettuce. Blaise had never understood the concept of lettuce.

* * *

_A/N: The next chapter includes the First Task. _

_Your reviews are, as always, highly appreciated. _


	4. The First Task

_A/N: I continue to be shocked at reader response. Over 800 reads of the last chapter (alone) since it was posted two days ago! I'm simply not used to that. Thanks, everyone. _

_If you one of the first three or four hundred people who read Chapter Three, go back and read it again. I added a long scene involving breakfast as it was too short otherwise. I'm trying to make each chapter at least 4000 words long. _

_I've also changed Crina's name from Evanescu to Vanescu._

_I've begun a discussion forum for this fic if you're interested, at** http / groups. yahoo. com / group / vanescu .** It's got polls that I'd like readers' opinions on.  
_

* * *

There was a knock at the door, and Crina Vanescu looked up from her marking essays. When would third years remember that Banshees were easy dealt with using simple silencing spells, she huffed to herself as she turned to look at the mirror on her table. It connected to a Scrying device placed at the door to the DADA classroom. 

She was at the door in an inhuman fraction of a second and opened it with a wide bang. A cloaked man entered the room, and she sprang at him. He staggered and hit a wall.

"Ow!" he said, massaging the back of his head with hirsute fingers.

"Werewolves aren't supposed to stagger back when jumped on by petite witches like myself," she smirked as she transfigured a couch for them to sit on.

"You missed an adjective, Crina," said the werewolf, taking his cloak off and draping it over a chair. "Petite _human_ witches."

"Pooh!" she pouted. "You're just jealous that vampires are stronger than werewolves."

"Like hell." He looked at the couch she had transfigured. "You don't expect me to sit on _that_, do you?"

"It's a perfectly reasonable couch. Look, four legs," she said defensively.

He poked at one of the legs gently. It cracked, and he whipped his foot out of the way before the couch crashed on to it. Crina huffed. She walked around the couch and kicked out the other three legs.

"I see you've caught up with the latest furniture fashions," mused her friend. "Legless couches are _most_ popular these days." He sat on the lower-than-average sofa, chuckling. "It is good to see you again, Crina. Sloppy Transfiguration abilities and all."

"You can call me Lily if you like," she said, lying down on the couch with her head in his lap as she often did. He ran his fingers through her white hair.

"I _am_ calling you Lily," he replied. "I learnt Romanian before you did."

"True," she said, and switched languages from English to Romanian. "How have you been?"

"It's been alright," replied the werewolf. "I still can't get the pack to understand why I'm friends with a vampire, but that shouldn't take long. Another couple of centuries, perhaps."

Crina laughed. "Yeah, right. I've not had any luck on our project, but I'm working on it. I've got some interesting correspondence with some Korean and some Argentinian scholars. And I'm trying to get my hands on some old Aztec journals."

"I'm looking forward to hearing about that. But for now, how are your sons?"

Crina said nothing for a while. "Paul is like James was before seventh year, only worse because his head is all puffed up about being the Boy Who Lived. And my Harry doesn't need me any more."

He began to object, but she shushed him.

"You were right all along," she said quietly. "I should have come back to their lives earlier. I could have, three years ago, and made a difference. Harry could have used me then."

"You can still make a difference in his life. What of his friends? Does he have good friends?"

"He's got a great girlfriend," she answered. "She's a Muggleborn in Gryffindor. The name's Hermione Granger. They've been friends since first year even though he's in Slytherin. They've been going out for a year now, and yet no-one knew until this year that they ever talked to each other."

"That's pretty amazing," he said with an indrawn breath. "At least he inherited something from his father. Good taste in women. Any other friends?"

"Yes," she said with a small smile, "from all houses. But from what I hear, he and his girlfriend have been friendless outcasts since their first year. I'm not entirely sure what changed this year, but Albus says the two of them are behaving very differently this year."

"Any ... external influences?"

"Albus doesn't think so. He thinks they just got tired of hiding their good qualities. Oh, Remus! I'm such a bad mother! Why did I stay away so long?" She sobbed into his lap again.

"Lily," he said softly, kissing her dry white hair. "Lily, consider what happened. You were turned when he was six. That meant that for the next five years you had no idea who _you_ were, let alone that you had a family. All of us thought you were dead. When you got your memories back and tried sending letters to James, he was furious, wasn't he? I'm sure he kept your letters from Harry. Yes, you could have come to Harry earlier, but how could you come to Hogwarts?"

"I could have told Albus," she said, sniffling. "And I shouldn't have listened to James' telling me to stay from my boys. And I shouldn't have been so scared of their reactions."

"Yes, you could have come back earlier. Maybe a year or two earlier," he admitted. "But you did not. You can't change that. And it would only have been a visit. _Now_ you're here and you can spend the whole year with him. Don't look back!"

"But he hates me!"

"He just doesn't know everything. Look, let's talk to his friends and explain the situation. That girlfriend of his - will she listen to you?"

"Granger will probably pull her wand on me and call me names and then ask a dozen questions. She's nearly as curious about learning stuff as I was at her age."

"Excellent," said the werewolf with a smirk. "I can't wait to meet her."

"Hang on a minute, Remus Lupin! You're not meeting anyone. Lucius can't know that you're here - it would give the whole game away! I'll talk to her. Alone."

"Alright," he replied calmly. "When?"

"After the Triwizard Tournament's first task. She and his friends are busy helping him prepare for it. I'll talk to her afterwards."

"Fair enough. Think he can handle the Tournament?"

"He's more like a sixth year than a fourth year, at least when it comes to defence spells. But we're still not sure how he was entered into the Tournament."

"Sabotage?"

"Of course it was bloody sabotage. And half the faculty thinks I did it. Snape certainly does."

"Snape hates Vampires even more than he hates Werewolves. Not what you'd expect, given his appearance. I still say it's self-loathing"

Crina chuckled. "Severus is about as Vampire as Mrs Norris."

"Mrs Norris is a Vamp?" asked Remus in mock shock. "I knew it!"

"Go eat a sickle, wolfie." She smiled. She looked at her watch. She stopped smiling. "Blast! It's nearly time for class. Shoo!"

"Hold your fangs, witch. I'm going. I've got an appointment with your Headmaster right after now."

* * *

Paul Potter was worried. Harry was starting to use his Dark Magic to influence more people. Even Cedric Diggory! He and Ron would have to step up their efforts. The rumours they been spreading - mostly true, even if Ron's were a _little_ exaggerated - were working but not adequately. 

Paul was sitting at the Gryffindor table at dinner, talking with Ron and Ginny about Quidditch, when he heard a loud voice coming from the center of the room.

"I'm telling you, Harry Potter is training to be a future Dark Lord!"

It was a familiar voice, Paul thought. He joined everyone else in the room in turning his head to it. His jaw dropped. His brother had gone insane! What was he doing, admitting it?

"You don't have to convince me!" said Hermione Granger. "I've been been training him!"

"Really, Granger?" said Blaise Zabini scornfully. "And this will be the first Dark Lord to kill his enemies by dumping library books on their head?" His eyes widened as Hermione conjured a massive tome over his head and let it fall. "Ow!"

"It's a very effective tactic," she replied before turning to Padma. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"You saw what Harry did to Malfoy, didn't you?" replied Padma, nodding with a smile. "What a vicious attack! He was hitting Malfoy's feet with his stomach with such _anger_!"

"Don't forget punching Crabbe's hands with his face," added Blaise. "And Zabini did get some good shots with the back of his head, connecting with Goyle's leg."

Paul could not believe this. Harry and his friends were making a _joke_ about this! And people were starting to laugh!

"Have you heard the one about Potter using a Love Potion on Hermione?" asked Cedric Diggory.

"Course I have," said Hermione. "It's ridiculous. Everyone knows I gave him a Love Potion, not vice versa. I mean, who would want to slip **me** a Love Potion?"

"Ron Weasley would," Cho pointed out.

"That's a lie!" shouted Ron from the Gryffindor table. The Weasley boy began marching angrily to the Neutral table. Hermione waved her wand at him and he paused for a second, dazed, and turned back to his table.

"How did you do that?" asked Terry.

"Idiot-repelling Charm," she replied. "I modified Muggle-repelling Charms to work one anyone with the mental capacity of a Flobberworm."

"That's Dark Magic!" said Harry, wearing a much-practised look of shock and horror. "And stop insulting Flobberworms!"

"Don't be so upset, boyfriend dear. Dark Magic isn't so bad. Go talk to Harry Potter," said Hermione. "He knows _lots_." She gave the ceiling a wistful glance, and it was hard for him not to break down laughing. Blaise was already going purple with the effort.

"Is that why the Weasley twins are laughing their head off?" asked Cho. "I thought I saw them spike his drink with something earlier."

"How could you say that?" replied Hermione. "Stop accusing my fellow Gryffindors. Just because you've got proof of it doesn't make it true! Something is only true if enough people talk about it behind your backs! Everyone knows that if you ever see anything strange happening around the school, then it must be blamed on Harry Potter and Dark Magic!" .

"Yeah!" exclaimed Harry. "I mean who can honestly believe that a slimy Slytherin like him would be able date the most brilliant and attractive witch in the school without the use of a Love Potion?"

"And she's a Muggleborn, no less," added Hermione. "Did you know that the Ministry's laws are so biased that it is legal for a Pureblood to slip a Muggleborn a Love Potion?"

"Purebloods are such idiots sometimes," said Harry. "Blood purity is a myth. If the Ministry's good, I would hate to see what they call evil around here."

* * *

The day of the first task arrived. 

Hermione, Blaise, Padma, and Terry had seen Harry off to the Champions' tent. Cho was not with them, as she and Cedric had their own set of friends - mostly older Huffleclaw Quidditch players. The quartet found a reasonable place in the stands. They were soon joined by Neville Longbottom.

"Er, hello," said the chubby Gryffindor. "May I join the four of you?"

Blaise and the Ravenclaws looked at Hermione, who nodded at once. Neville had never said anything to hurt her, and had sincerely appreciated her help with his homework.

"Sure, Neville," she said with a smile. "I'm glad I'm not the only feline here." She patted the seat next to her, and introduced him to the others.

"Feline?" he asked after the introductions. "Oh, the lion thing. I forgot about that."

"Pretty gutsy of you to sit with us, Longbottom," said Blaise, surprisingly serious.

"I- I should ap- apologize," he said nervously. "I was too much of a coward to do it before. But Paul and Ron are ..."

"Prats?" suggested Terry, furthest away from him.

"Twits?" suggested Padma, who was sitting between Terry and Hermione.

"Professional nose pickers and eaters?" suggested Blaise.

There was a collective groan, and even Neville smiled a bit.

"I would going to say a waste of fertilizer," admitted the Gryffindor.

Terry laughed, and Blaise clapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, it's starting!" squealed Padma.

"Welcome everyone!" said a fat man in the centre of the arena formerly known as the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch.

"Who's that?" hissed Hermione as the announcer got through several verbal banalities.

"It's Ludo Bagman," said Terry Boot. "We saw at the Quidditch World Cup."

"You were there?" asked Hermione. "At the Death Eater attack?"

Padma nodded, and put a finger to her lips.

"The First Task," said Bagman, "is to retrieve a scroll from the top of a tall rocky outcropping and bring it back to the ground. There will be obstacles on the way. This task has been created with the aid of several Charms and Illusions experts, including Marius Gentovic and Mischa Sadowsky of Durmstrang, Pierre Agatier and Themba Mazingi of Beauxbatons, and Filius Flitwick, Crina Vanescu, and Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts. You will see it once the task begins. Bear in mind that the champions will not be able to hear or see you. Now, the champions have drawn lots, and they will compete in the following order..."

* * *

Harry was the last competitor, and he performed several breathing exercises as he watched the others go out. He could hear nothing during the execution of the task, but he could hear the roar of the audience between each champion's attempt. Judging from that, Fleur had done very well, Krum had gotten hurt, while Diggory succeeded but had taken longer than the half hour permitted. 

When it was his turn, Harry walked out of the tent to see a vast open plain. It was a desert landscape with a tall tower of rock reaching a hundred feet into the sky. He wondered who had been responsible for creating it - perhaps the slit in the tent was a portal? He had not felt any disorientation when he passed through it.

His first thought was to fly up to the top of the mesa facing him, and his second and third thoughts agreed. He tried to Summon his Nimbus, but could feel the Charm failing. This was definitely a closed environment.

Oh well.

Flying still seemed the best option.

_"If you have to hide something for the rest of your life, how is that much different from not having it?"_

He would thank Terry for those words later, even if the Ravenclaw had been talking of something else at the time.

And since Hermione had already let out his secret and James could not be trusted to keep it...

He changed into his eagle form and headed upwards. He wished he could hear the audience's reactions and regretted that his beak made it impossible to smirk.

He was still ten feet below the top of the mesa when his wings flapped against an soft barrier on their upward swoop.

Reflexively, he dived downwards in a corkscrew flight pattern that would distract anything behind him. But there was nothing, so he cautiously flew up again. At around the same height as before, he hit the barrier. It had the same texture as before, like several large pillows weaved together. He flew elsewhere and found the same phenomena.

He wondered how the others got through the barrier. They would not have been airborne...

They must have climbed.

Which meant the barrier did not exist close to the rock.

He flew towards the mesa, regularly testing the air above him to see if the barrier was still present. About five metres from the rock, he found that he could fly through, and did so with a loud avian shriek of delight.

There were loud cracks around him, and he found himself sharing the sky with three large flying monsters. They did not appear to be birds, with their huge scaly wings and long beaks and long heads. More like bats, he thought.

He headed straight upwards so he could grab the scroll. A searing bolt of flame just above him rapidly discouraged this notion.

Bloody flame-breathing bats. What kind of creatures were these? He'd never seen them in any Magical Creatures books. All he knew was that Hagrid must be in love with the beasts.

He flew to the other side of the rock tower looking for a nook large enough to rest both of his feet and fire spells from. But he couldn't find one, and he soon had to take evasive maneuvers again.

He wondered, once again, how the other champions managed this.

Oh well.

Terra firma was overrated when it came to spellwork. Especially when you didn't have a choice.

He flew upwards. After gaining sufficient height, he transformed back into a human. He fell, but was still above the level of the mesa. He tried Summoning it, just in case the organizers had forgotten the obvious and failed to place anti-Summoning Charms on it.

Nothing happened.

The bats, or whatever they were called, were getting closer. He shot off a Stunner at one of them. It hit, but had no effect. He tried his second favourite spell.

"Reducto!"

This time the bat moved, but not quickly enough. Several shards of some clay like substance crumbled off the tip of its left wing.

A golem!

Idly, Harry wondered if having flesh and blood was a requirement for Hagrid to love nasty dangerous creatures.

Another stream of flame came close, and he transformed back into an eagle to fly upwards again and repeated the process.

After a couple of falls, he had managed to fire off several more Reductos. Two of the flying golems fell, and there was only one left.

Then he hit the barrier. This time, he had not transformed quickly enough back into an eagle.

Fortunately, it was a soft barrier. He figured the organizers of the Tournament must really be worried about fatalities. Not that he was complaining, even if his body was aching after having fallen fifty feet.

He moved rapidly out of the way as he saw the third golem-bat rapidly approaching. He shot off another Reducto and it broke into pieces. He cast a quick shield Charm to protect himself from debris.

Looking around, he transformed back into his avian form and flew to the mesa. He swooped down to catch the scroll in his talons, and waited.

Nothing happened. He flew around the mesa once, and then remembered that he had to return to the ground. He flew down the side of the mesa till he was sure he was under the barrier, and then swooped down to the ground and reverted to his mammalian form.

The scene around him changed, and he could hear cheering from all sides. He was in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts again. He revelled in the fact that three quarters of the crowd wasn't baying for his blood - the typical attitude after he caught the Snitch for his House. Then he heard a few laughs between the cheers, and realized that he was standing on the scroll since his talons were feet and feet could not grip. At least not when he was wearing shoes.

He bent down to pick up the scroll.

There was a tugging sensation in his navel.

A Portkey! Bloody hell! Panicking, he tried to disobey the First Rule of Portkey Travel and let go of it while spinning in the air, but could not. Desperate, he tried transforming into an eagle again. In this he was successful, and he was airborne as soon as the Portkey destination arrived. Scared, tired, and confused, he flew upwards quickly and evasively, not listening to the cries of two angry cloaked men below him.

He flew higher and higher, till he was sure he was safe, and began watching the men below him. He could see a black circle near them - about the size of a manhole in a Muggle street. Perhaps it was a cauldron.

No matter. He had no idea what had happened, but wanted to get out. Hermione would be worried sick! Then a few more people appeared below him and it seemed like a duel was going on.

Again, no matter. It was not his concern. He had to find out where the bloody hell he was, and get back to Hogwarts. He wished he had his charmed notebook on him, but competition rules prevented anyone taking anything other than ordinary robes and a wand into the arena.

He also didn't know any communication spells, or how to send a message by Patronus like he'd seen his father and Sirius do. That left Muggle methods of communication. If he could get to a phone, he could call Hermione's parents, and they could use their owl to tell her. He knew their number, and could conjure Muggle coins for the phone.

He could see buildings a couple of miles away, and headed for them. It took him a few minutes to get there. Just after he landed and was still searching for a phone, the DADA Professor suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Harry!" cried Professor Vanescu, looking very relieved to see him. "Are you alright?"

His wand was out, despite the fact that they were in a Muggle area. He could see a couple of people giving them strange glances. After all, a very pale woman with white hair suddenly appearing on a street wasn't exactly normal.

"What the fuck's going on?" he cried. "One minute I'm done with the task, the next minute I'm in a fucking graveyard! Who were those men? Who turned the scroll into a Portkey?"

"I don't know!" she screamed back, and he felt oddly better. Screaming he understood. He knew how to deal with being yelled at. It was familiar. "Look, I'm here to take you back to Hogwarts. You coming?"

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"Of course you can... I'm your mother!"

"What?" he cried, shell-shocked. She took advantage of his hesitation and grabbed his hand. They disappeared, leaving the village of Little Hangleton in the capable hands of the soon-to-arrive Ministry Obliviators.

* * *

Harry was in Dumbledore's office, along with Hermione (at their joint insistence), Vanescu, Snape, McGonagall, and the Headmaster himself. Surprisingly, Paul Potter was present, with various degrees of emotion crossing his face. 

For once, the Headmaster's eyes were devoid of any twinkle. Harry wasn't sure if that was a good thing, and concentrated on holding Hermione close to him. They were sitting together on a fluffy armchair that the Deputy Headmistress had enlarged so they could both fit.

"Lemon drop?" asked the Headmaster.

Vanescu snorted. She seemed to be very angry. Harry was very angry too, with her. Mother, indeed, she claimed. What a load of Hippogriff droppings. A cheap trick to shock him and get him back to Hogwarts. Never mind that he had wanted to get back to Hogwarts - it was still a cheap trick. Last time she had claimed that his mother was alive and a friend of hers. Now she was claiming she was his mother. Next she would be claiming that he was the long-lost ruler of vampires in Europe.

"Just get to the point, Albus," said Snape angrily. For once, Harry agreed with his Head of House.

"Fair enough," said the wizened Headmaster. "Let me explain what I have put together. Mr Potter performed his task most admirably - I should mention here that I am _most_ impressed with his early achievement of an Animagus form - but a saboteur substituted the scroll he was to retrieve with one that was a Portkey. This would be activated the moment it came into contact with a _human_ hand, which is why it did not activate when Mr Potter was in his Animagus form. He was taken to the graveyard near the town of Little Hangleton. Thanks to Professor Vanescu, we were able to follow him there after a couple of minutes."

Dumbledore paused, and looked at Harry. "I realize this has been tiring to say the least, but would you be able to explain what happened when you got there, Mr Potter?"

Harry started for a moment, and then pulled himself together. "When I bent down to pick up the scroll, I realized it was a Portkey. I had a bad feeling that something was wrong, and eagled myself during the ride. When the Portkey landed, I flew up as fast as I could. When I was high enough, I began looking at the ground again. I saw two men and a black spot, probably a cauldron. Then I saw you lot arrive and start fighting, but I didn't know it was you lot. I wanted to contact Hogwarts, but did not know how. But I do know the Granger's phone number and they have an owl, so I flew to the nearest town to find a Muggle phone. Then I would fly back to Hogwarts. But Professor Vanescu found me before I found a phone, so that did not happen."

"You thought an owl would be faster than an eagle?" asked Hermione in disbelief.

"Well, I was lost and the owl wouldn't be!" said Harry defensively. "Besides, for all I know your parents have a faster emergency method of communicating with Hogwarts than Owls."

Hermione seemed to have more questions, but the Headmaster took over the reins of the conversation again.

"The new arrivals that Mr Potter saw were Professors Vanescu and Snape, and myself. The two people you saw were a couple of Death Eaters - followers of Lord Voldemort - that we did not recognize. They managed to destroy the evidence of the ritual they were performing before they Disapparated. I believe the ritual was a Dark one that would have brought their master back to life."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

"Why did they want Harry, sir?" asked Hermione, who was wearing the expression Harry called her Thinking Face.

"I am not entirely sure," replied Dumbledore. "It definitely has to do with the fact that he is the brother of the Boy Who Lived. His blood or flesh were probably required components of whatever Ritual they wished to perform."

"If they had to kill a Potter brat," asked Snape, the only person in the room rude enough to openly ask the question on everyone's mind, "why bother with the one that has a modicum of intelligence?"

If circumstances had been different, Harry and Hermione would have fallen off their chairs in shock at the compliment. Everyone other than Paul had their eyebrows raised. Harry was surprised his brother did not rise to the insult, but perhaps he was in too much of a state of shock to pay attention. Not that Harry minded - Paul was a tolerable presence when silent.

"It is not clear to me why Harry and not Paul was chosen," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps the ritual required the blood of a close relative and not the person in question. We simply do not know until we know what the Ritual was, which seems rather impossible at the moment."

There was silence for a while, even from Snape.

"Can I get out of the Tournament, sir?" asked Harry. "Please?"

Dumbledore sighed. "The consequences will be severe," he said.

"Mr Potter," said Snape, "if you withdraw from the competition, you will lose your Magic. Hence the term Magical Binding Contract." He did not seem to be using hyperbole.

"Can't you cancel the whole Tournament?" asked Hermione, when it was clear no-one else wanted to, or had thought of, that option.

"That will humiliate Hogwarts," replied Snape.

Hermione stood up and folded her arms angrily as she faced the Headmaster. Harry thought she looked beautiful. "But it is an option, isn't it, Professor Dumbledore?"

All eyes were on the ancient wizard, with several glances to Snape as he seemed more willing to provide answers.

"She has a point, Albus," added Professor Vanescu. "The contract is enforced via the magic of the Goblet of Fire. If we destroy the Goblet, the contract would be nullified."

Dumbledore stood up wearily, and walked to the window. He looked out for a minute, staring at the figures still wandering around the Quidditch Pitch discussing the tasks and the disappearance and reappearance of the youngest competitor. Finally, he turned back to look at the others in the room.

"If we destroy the Goblet, would that stop the attempts to kill the Potter boys?" he asked. "The attempts to kidnap them to revive Tom Riddle?"

And to that, there was no answer, even from Hermione.

Professor Vanescu sighed. "I really don't like this, Albus."

"I am willing to hear further alternatives," he replied, looking very old.

"I for one would like to know who gave Mr Potter the scroll Portkey," stated McGonagall.

"We've got a vampire here," sneered Snape. "A vampire with a pet werewolf in her quarters. They are both new arrivals, and you are wondering who sabotaged the tournament?"

"Enough, Severus!" replied Dumbledore. "I believe it is either Ludo Bagman or a Polyjuiced version of him. Aurors are searching the Bagman residence as we speak."

"And how were you able to track Potter?" asked Snape.

"Crina has access to some impressive vampire tracking magic that I do not," answered the Headmaster with a nod to the DADA teacher. Snape seemed to consider this more proof of her guilt.

They discussed a few more things. The discussions consisted of the Headmaster giving orders and the others assenting, though some of the assent was for having individual meetings where opinions could be exchanged without the the dampening presence of an audience.

Finally, Dumbledore sent everyone away other than Harry. He moved again to the window and looked out from it.

"I feel that I must apologize once again for your narrow brush with death, Mr Potter," he said. Harry nodded warily. "If you or Miss Granger have any suggestions on how to improve security, please let me know. Have you any questions?"

"Yes, sir. How was I tracked?"

"I see that you realized that my answer was incomplete. It is indeed due to the fact that Professor Vanescu is a vampire. But the second reason is that she is a blood relative of yours. Your mother, in fact."

"But ... why should I believe this?" asked Harry, his emotional shields firmly up. But they were shuddering uneasily.

"Would you like me to tell you her story," asked Dumbledore, "or would you like to hear it from her? She has given me permission to tell you."

"I'm not going to believe you anyway."

Fawkes gave an loud trill. Dumbledore looked at it and nodded.

"Your mother was bitten by a vampire when you were six. Owing to the type of Vampire she was bitten by, she was unable to remember who she was for a few years."

Harry's mouth opened in shock.

"There is more to the story. She sent you ... no, she must tell you herself. Suffice it to say that she did not contact you earlier for two reasons. First, people got in the way. Second, she was ashamed of herself and terrified that her sons would not accept her. She is very proud of you and would like to get to know you better."

Harry's eyes had hardened again.

"You're lying."

"What would I have to gain from lying, Mr Potter?"

"How should I know? I just nearly got killed in your bloody tournament! Maybe you just want to make me into a willing sacrifice for my brother, just like our grandmother was in 1981! And _you_ told them to go under the bloody Fidelius! And _you_ are not stopping this Tournament!"

Harry's eyes turned to the window again. Only the reputation of the Headmaster kept him from jumping out, but his resolve would break soon. Besides, he had transformed too many times today and was completely worn out.

"I am truly sorry, Mr Potter."

"I'll bet. Wait a minute - why are you telling me this and not my brother? You want to keep him away from her, don't you? Can't let a vampire get too close to the Boy Who Lived, can we?" he sneered.

"Lily Evans, as Professor Vanescu was born, does not wish to speak to your brother yet. She does not think he would be as accepting of her nature as you."

"Do I sound _accepting_ to you, sir?"

"Might I suggest that you do accept the fact that your mother is a vampire, but cannot accept that she was away from you in the years that you needed her?"

Furious, Harry stormed to the window and jumped out. But he was too tired to transform, and it was only due to the quick reflexes of Fawkes that he did not hit the ground with a thump.

"Oh dear," said Professor Dumbledore as he reached behind a bookcase for his trusty (made in 1968) broomstick and prepared to fly to the ground below his window. "Poppy is not going to be pleased."

* * *

_A/N: I hope you like the fact that the tasks in my GOF AU will not be identical to those in canon. Suggestions for future tasks will be welcome - even if I don't use them, future writers who read this fic might use them, and that's not a bad thing, is it?  
_

_Several people have asked questions about the background to this fic. Much will be revealed later. For now, know that on Halloween 1981, the Boy Who Lived was saved by the sacrifice of his Grandmother. Lily and James were not at home at the time. _

_And no, I'm not shipping Lily/Remus yet. Unless enough people really, really want that to happen. They are just good friends right now.  
_


	5. O Hospital Wing! how I love thee

_I continue to be shocked and flattered by the reader response to this fic. Thanks, everyone. This chapter is more serious than the previous ones. A lot of plot details figured themselves out in the last 24 hours, and the story will chug along nicely now. Unless I get hit by a bus, of course. _

_I've begun a discussion forum for this fic if you're interested, at **http / groups. yahoo. com / group / vanescu** . It's got polls that I'd like readers' opinions on. The most important poll is for you to choose the characters you'd most like to see kick the bucket. Feel free to vote for multiple deaths. Eleven of the first twenty five reviewers of Chapter Four offered opinions on the Remus/Lily ship. The score stands at six affirmatives (i.e. pro-RL/LE), three dissensions and two abstentions. _

* * *

Ginny Weasley sat in Professor McGonagall's office, having tea and biscuits with her Head of House. Ginny was rather surprised by this, but figured that it had something to do with whatever happened to her boyfriend's suspicious brother at the end of the First Task. Paul had been called to a meeting with the Headmaster after that, and had returned looking extremely pale and worried. He had also refused to say anything about it, but just wanted to be hugged. Ginny found rather strange, seeing as Paul Potter usually wanted more than that, but she couldn't say she minded. After all, she would do anything for the Boy Who Lived. 

"I suppose you are a little surprised that you are here, Miss Weasley," said the Gryffindor Head. "The Headmaster has recently discovered some information saying that your boyfriend is in grave danger, and needs your help."

"Oh no!" exclaimed Ginny, leaning forward in alarm. "What's wrong? What can I do to help him?"

"It's rather complicated, Ginevra. And top secret. I will need your word that no-one outside this room ever hears of what I am about to tell you."

"Of course," replied the teenage witch, and promptly swore an oath to that effect.

"Excellent. Now here is what Albus and I need you to do..."

* * *

Hermione was busy working on her Charms homework. The topic was Disillusionment Charms. Flitwick, the Head of the House she still believed she should have been placed in, had given them extra reading about Invisibility Charms, and she was having trouble understanding just how they could be applied to merely a single object. 

She hadn't gone to dinner, but Padma had brought her sandwiches along with some extra parchment to do her homework with. It was tragically fortunate, in Hermione's opinion, that Madam Pomfrey had fallen sick earlier that day, and was therefore sniffling and spreading germs to her grandchildren at her son's place in Glasgow. The temporary Healer in charge of the Hospital Wing, a laid back middle-aged witch called Jones, did not share Pomfrey's religious belief that having visitors outside visiting hours was a heinous sacrilege that would cause the Apocalypse to come early.

Which is why Hermione was sitting up in the bed next to an unconscious Harry, doing her homework while sneaking glances every ten minutes to see if he had awoken from his Magical exhaustion.

There was a knock at the door of the Hospital Wing and Hermione quickly turned her head towards it and instinctively reached for her wand in her hip holster.

It was Professor Vanescu.

Hermione kept her hand on her wand, but did not raise it. Not that it would be any use if a vampire decided to attack.

The DADA teacher walked slowly into the room, looking at Harry.

"How is he?" asked the white-haired witch.

"Not awake yet," replied Hermione, watching her teacher warily. She respected Vanescu as a teacher, but outside classrooms... there were just too many unknowns, and too many things had happened that day.

"Do you think we could ... talk?" Vanescu's face betrayed no emotions, but her voice was clearly nervous. That calmed Hermione somewhat and she nodded. "Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate it." She took a deep breath. This was one of the habits that separated Turned Vampires from Born Vampires, since vampires had no need to breathe. "How much has Harry told you about me?"

"He said that..." began Hermione. "Wait. Why should I tell you?"

"Because I'd like to tell you the rest of it. Did he mention that his mother is alive?"

"Yes," replied Hermione after a pause.

"And that I initially told him that him that I am close to his mother?"

"Yes," replied Hermione uncertainly.

"And that I am his mother?"

Hermione's mouth dropped. "No, he didn't mention that." She thought for a moment, while recovering from the shock. "Prove it."

"My maiden name is Evans. I was born Lily Evans. Crina is a Romanian word meaning Lily. Vanescu - Evans - you get the idea."

For Hermione, this was pretty close to proof. But the look of longing in Vanescu's eyes when she gazed at Harry was even closer.

"Does Harry know?" she asked.

"I told him today," replied Crina. "But I don't think he believes me."

"If you are his mother," Hermione said after another long silence, "perhaps you can tell me what you've been doing since you 'died'."

So Crina began explaining. She spoke of how she was with James Potter and their two sons visiting Venice when she was attacked by a rogue vampire on a solo shopping trip. She lost her memories of her old life. She was taken in by an old and relatively benevolent vampire family, as something between a servant and a governess. She moved from Italy to Romania with them and learnt Romanian and German while serving as a conversational partner for young vampires learning English. Her memories began returning slowly after four years, starting with her earliest ones. After another year she could remember her husband and family.

Crina had then, with the help of her adopted family, managed to return to England to try and see her sons and husband. She had assumed that he had moved on, but had been surprised by the ferocity of his response to her return from the dead. He had refused to let her even _see_ either of her sons, let alone speak to them. She figured it had something to do with his new girlfriend. Or he was distraught. Or a combination of the two.

Hermione listened to Lily berate herself for not having the guts to directly contact Harry - her favourite son - earlier. She had sent a couple of Owls, but Harry never sent a reply. Lily now thought he never received them, which probably meant James got them first. Lily blamed herself for giving up too quickly and not sending a letter while her son was in Hogwarts.

"I believe you now," said Hermione with a sad smile. "You have to be Harry's mother. You're just like him, blaming yourself for something you have nothing to do with."

"I had something to do with it! If I hadn't gone shopping alone... if I hadn't given up..."

"Let me rephrase that," said Hermione. "You both blame yourselves more than you should. Far more. Besides, you did not give up - you came here, didn't you?"

"Not by choice. I was - pushed into this situation by a friend. A werewolf, actually."

"You have good friends," remarked the teenager.

"A trait I must have inherited from my son." Lily paused. "Tell me, is there something I could do to make it easier for him to accept me? Like dye my hair red?"

"Dye? Oh, I forgot you're Muggleborn too. Harry told me that. No, you definitely do not want to dye your hair red. You're his mother, but you are not just his mother. You're his mother and a vampire. Vampires have white hair. Don't try to be something you are not. Harry hates that. Besides, he isn't your little six year old boy now - he is a teen. You both have to start afresh. Lily Evans had red hair. Crina Vanescu has white hair. Be his mother, be his sister, be his friend." She paused. "I can help you, if you like."

"Miss Granger, if Harry ever leaves you, I'll kick his ass. One day you should tell me how to thank you."

"I can tell you that today."

"Oh? Please do so, in that case."

"My parents are dentists, and they would be fascinated to examine a set of vampire teeth. So if you could visit them in their office one weekend... I should warn you though, they will talk about you in the third person _a lot_. "

Crina laughed, harder than she had all term.

* * *

Harry woke up at dawn the next morning, and saw the familiar ceiling of the Hospital Wing. 

"Shit," he thought, "I should just move here."

He looked around, and saw Hermione sleeping on the bed next to him. He panicked at once. Was she alright? Pomfrey did not allow overnight visitors in the Hospital Wing so she must have gotten hurt somehow...

He sat up and moved his legs and arms to see if they were in working order. They did, so he got out of the bed and sat on Hermione's. He felt her forehead to see if she had any fever. It seemed fine, and he bent down to give her a kiss on her forehead. And then another, lightly on her lips. She did not seem to mind too much, if the purring coming from her was any indication. He wondered if she normally purred in her sleep. Perhaps she picked up the habit from that mangy orange flat-faced feline of hers.

He stood up, noted absently that some kind soul had left a fresh change of clothing for him, and headed to the bathroom. When he returned twenty minutes later, dripping and wearing nothing but a towel, Hermione was awake.

"Oy! Close your eyes!" he shouted, much embarassed. His build was lean to the point of skinny - being a Seeker did not do much for building muscle mass.

"Why should I?" she replied cheekily. "You're the one prancing around the Hospital Wing like there's no-one around."

"You were supposed to be asleep!" he said, grabbing his school robes and dashing behind a screen so he could put them on. "And what are you doing here? Are you injured?"

"Get back here, Potter! I deserve some entertainment!"

"Too late," he replied after several seconds. He grinned as he came from behind the screen with his trousers and shirt on and carrying his robes. He began tucking in his shirt. "Seriously, are you alright?"

"Poppy's sick," said Hermione. She was already out of bed herself and grabbing some clothes. "The substitute Healer - Madam Jones - doesn't care about Visiting Hours. Now, how well are you feeling? Still magically exhausted?"

"I'm fine."

"There I go again, asking stupid questions," sighed Hermione. "You always say fine. I swear, even if you lived in a cardboard box and ate once a month and got pissed on by the rest of the universe, you'd say you were _fine_. Is it a male thing, a Potter thing, or a Harry thing? Now come on, we're going to breakfast. And I've got a bunch of things to tell you on the way."

* * *

Blaise was sitting at the Neutral table at breakfast. He was concentrating on making a tower of sausage links when two people sat next to him. 

"Hello, Longbottom," he said, glancing to the person sitting on his right. "Welcome to the House of ... well, we haven't worked out a name yet. And Katie the Belle! What are you doing here?"

"Good morning, Zabini," said Neville quietly. "I hope you don't mind us sitting here."

"Of course I don't mind. Besides, it's a free table."

"We could call it Zabini House," said Katie Bell, responding to Blaise's hypothetical question with her usual air of unaffected confidence. "But that would only chase people away."

"You insult my modesty, Belladonna," replied Blaise. "I suppose Longbottom here dragged you here? Good taste, Neville. I always knew you had it in you!"

Neville spluttered, and Katie had mercy on him. "Neville has nothing to do with this, Zabini. I came here because I was curious." She turned to look him in the eye. "Did you really get beaten up by Slytherins last year when you asked me out?"

Blaise stiffened and remained silent for a while. "Neville," he said, "what do you think we should call this table, eh? Slyvenpuffdor sounds pretty good to me!"

Neville glanced at Katie, who was giving Blaise an inscrutable look.

"I think Katie would like an ans -" Neville began.

"Oh look!" cried Blaise. "It's the Silver 'N Gold Couple! Oy! Harry! Hermione! Over here!" His voice was loud, and Harry was already giving him a murderous look for pointing out their arrival to the entire Great Hall. Blaise ignored that - the second Hogwarts Champion was going to be noticed almost as soon as he entered anyway.

Paul Potter stood up at the Gryffindor table and began walking to meet Harry and Hermione. The pair visibly stiffened, and kept their hands close to their wands. A hush fell on the Great Hall. Whispers broke out as Paul smiled and held out his hand.

"Congratulations, Harry," said Paul. "You did very well yesterday. And I'm delighted you're well."

"Er," said Harry, shaking his brother's hand. He was still visibly surprised. "Thanks."

"I wish to apologize to both of you," continued Paul, "for thinking ill of you and your relationship. For what it's worth, I have come to my senses and approve."

"That's nice," said Hermione, her eyes boring into his. "Thank you. We would never have been friends for four years without your permission, would we? Does this mean you won't be calling me a boring bushy-haired bucktoothed bookworm even when you don't need help with your homework? And that you won't be calling your brother a Dark Lord in training? And that you won't feel the need for him to kiss your unworthy ass any more?"

Paul winced. "Look," he said. "I'm really sorry about everything I've done and said..."

"Do you still think that all Slytherins are evil?" asked Harry, catching on to his girlfriend's cynical take on Paul's apology.

"Yes, but you're not a Slytherin - "

"Haven't you learnt anything, Paul?" shouted Harry. "Slytherin is the only house where I would fit! I am proud to be there. Yes, we've produced a few Dark Lords, but so have Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Why do you all hate us so much? You all ostracize us and then get surprised when those of us who are neutral turn to the Dark! Of course we have our bigoted idiots like Malfoy who don't realize that Muggle-borns are the future of the wizarding world, but most of us are neutral and want to be friends with people who accept us! But you and morons like Ron Weasley and our father are just as bigoted as Malfoy!"

"How can you be so callous?" said a new voice. It was Ginevra Weasley, storming up to where the three of them were standing. "My boyfriend tries to offer an apology and all you can do is stand on a bloody soapbox?"

"Give me one good reason why I should believe my brother," Harry replied in a low, menacing voice. Ginny and Paul backed away. "He has belittled and ignored me and treated me like thestral dung for years, and now he believes it can all be undone with a apology that lasts twenty seconds? I am a Slytherin. We snakes are not fools. This apology of his is nothing but a _pathetic_ publicity stunt, and ... AARGH!"

Harry fell to his knees, screaming.

"HARRY!" Hermione bent down over him, holding and shaking him. "What's wrong!" She could hear running footsteps.

"Harry!" That sounded like Blaise.

There was a flash of red light, and Harry's screams were stopped as he went limp.

"There's blood running from the back of his head!"

"What have you done to him?" Hermione screamed at the Headmaster.

"Silence!" shouted Dumbledore, power rolling off from him in waves. "I have stunned him for his own safety. He will not suffer if he is unconscious. We must get him to the Hospital Wing now!"

Blaise held back Hermione as the old wizard levitated Harry. Paul tried to follow them, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Let me go! That's my brother!" shouted Paul.

"Your brother needs his friends and allies," said Cedric Diggory, who was holding him. "You have been disloyal to your kin. I am glad you are not in Hufflepuff, because you would never be worthy of it."

Cedric forcibly pushed Paul back as he moved forward to follow Dumbledore and Hermione. Blaise was already ahead of him. He heard running footsteps behind him, and looked back while he kept walking. It was Cho, and she had a look of pride on her face that made his heart beat several ticks faster.

* * *

Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing, and promptly cursed. 

"Fuck! I can't even go to breakfast without getting hurt!"

"Mr Potter," said Albus Dumbledore. Next to him was a strange woman wearing Healer's robes. Harry supposed she was Madam Pomfrey's temporary replacement. Jones, if he remembered correctly. "You were having an argument with your brother in the Great Hall when you began clutching the back of your head. There's a wound there that was bleeding. Have you any idea where you got it?"

"One of my brother's lackeys blindsiding me?" suggested Harry with a heavy note of sarcasm. Dumbledore kept looking at him. "Oh, fine! I don't know when I got it. It's been there as long as I can remember. My mother probably dropped me on the head when I was a baby, which would explain a lot. It's bled a couple of times this year. That's all I know. And it's bleeding now because I'm allergic to my brother. He's training to be a Dark Lord, you know."

There was a snigger nearby, followed shortly by a smack and an 'ow!' Harry figured it was Hermione keeping Blaise in line.

"Is there anything else you would like to tell me, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, looking over his spectacles.

"Yes, Headmaster," replied Harry Potter. "Can you please stop the Tournament?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Healer Jones has cleaned your wounds and tells me you are free to go. But I am afraid I have bad news. Although today is a Hogsmeade Saturday, you must not leave Hogwarts. Your life is in danger, as we discussed yesterday. This is not negotiable."

Harry stood in silence, his mouth agape.

"Thank you, sir," he said, gritting his teeth. "I don't know where I would be without your _concern_. Happyland, probably."

Dumbledore sighed, nodded to the students, and left.

Harry turned to the substitute for Pomfrey. "I'm sorry you heard that, Healer Jones. I really do appreciate your help and for not keeping me here too long. And for letting Hermione stay overnight. Can you stay around even after the Tyrant of the Hospital Wing returns?"

"You're welcome, Mr Potter," replied Jones. "But Madam Pomfrey is a good Healer and would also kick you out of the Hospital Wing if she was here. Your attack was very short-lived."

"The day Poppy treats me like an outpatient will be the day Mermaids come to Hogwarts," replied Harry, putting on his robes and heading out for breakfast for the second time that day.

"Um, Harry?" said Hermione walking beside him. "There _are_ Merpeople in Hogwarts. In the Lake. It's in 'Hogwarts: a History'."

"Grrr," Harry replied onomatopoeically. He suddenly noticed that Blaise and Hermione were not the only ones present. Cedric, Cho, Neville, Terry, and Padma were also at the entrance to the Hospital Wing. "What are you all doing here?"

"Get it into your thick head, Potter," said Cedric. "We're your friends. Friends come and see friends in the Hospital Wing. We were worried about you."

"Oh," replied Harry, uncertainly. "I see. Er - thanks. I've not had that many ... never mind. I don't suppose any of you brought a sandwich?"

Surprisingly, Neville had, and gave it to Harry.

"Thanks, Longbottom," replied Harry. "And - er - welcome to our motley crew. Hermione has often said you're the only decent bloke in Gryffindor." He bit into the sandwich and swallowed a small bit. "The bacon's excellent."

Neville looked rather embarassed at the compliment, and just nodded. He would have been more embarassed if he had heard Padma whispering into Cho's ear that it was about time they compiled a list of witches to set him up with.

"Breakfast time's over," replied the Hufflepuff Seeker. "But it's Saturday and a Hogsmeade weekend. Let's go there now so we can come back in the afternoon. Ravenclaw is playing Gryffindor in Quidditch then, and I need to watch my girlfriend catch the Snitch."

"I guess you didn't hear Dumbledore," replied Harry.

"He had a silencing charm on you all, didn't you know? We couldn't hear a thing!" said Terry.

"Oh," said Harry. "No, I didn't know." He sighed dramatically. "Our _beloved_ Headmaster has banned me from Hogsmeade. For my own safety."

"What?" said Cedric and Cho together.

"He didn't say that to me," added Cedric.

"You lot go to Hogsmeade," said Hermione. "You too, Blaise. I want to stay with Harry. You'll be back in the afternoon, right?"

"Yes," replied the Ravenclaw Seeker. "Like my Diggles said, we're playing you Gryffies today." They snickered as Cedric banged his head against a wall.

"Good," said the Ravenclaw Wannabe. "Make sure you catch the Snitch."

"Hermione," whispered Harry as the octet left the Hospital Wing, "you don't have to stay with me. Go to Hogsmeade."

"What part of 'want to stay with Harry' did you not understand?" she retorted. "The spaces between the words? We've got too many things to talk about. I'll give Padma my shopping list and a few quid. Now go talk to the blokes. I'll go talk to the smart folks." She left him and moved over to where Padma and Cho were talking.

"Has anyone told you how the other champions did their task, Harry?" asked Terry.

"Task?" asked Harry. "What task?"

"The Pterodactyl-dragon golems," replied Terry.

"The what?"

"The beasties that were trying to kill us yesterday," explained Cedric with an amused smile.

"Oh, those. Funny, it seems like it happened last week. What happened anyway? What did the Headmaster tell you lot? Was it really yesterday? Am I in last place?"

"Merlin, Harry! One question at a time! Your girlfriend is rubbing off on you more than we thought," said Blaise. "Not that you would have a reason to object to her rubbing you, mind."

"I'm in last place," said Cedric with a grimace, answering the last question. "I didn't finish in time. Delacour's leading. She turned into a bird as well, and threw flames back at the golems. She finished really fast, and got forty six points. You've got forty two, Krum thirty five and I've got thirty four."

"Krum should be in last place," clarified Neville. "His conjured broomstick wasn't very good. He got badly scorched by one of the golems after he got the scroll. It was burnt to a cinder. But Mr Karkaroff still gave him a nine." It was clear that Neville's opinion of the Durmstrang Headmaster was not particularly high, given his avoidance of the honorific 'Professor'.

"Looks like we're at the fork in the road," said Cedric. "Want anything from Hogsmeade, Harry?"

"Er. Four chocolate frogs for me and two sugar quills for me to give to Mione."

Five minutes later, Harry and Hermione were still standing there, watching their friends go to Hogsmeade.

"Well," said Harry.

"Well," said Hermione.

"We need to talk."

"Definitely."

"Good day for a picnic?"

"An excellent idea. I always knew you were capable of intelligence, Potter."

* * *

Crina Vanescu stood on the roof of the Astronomy Tower. One of the advantages of being a vampire was having wings. She'd only had them for the last few months, seeing as they only developed six to eight years after one was Turned, but now she couldn't imagine life without them. 

Like all vampires, she preferred to move around at night. She had scheduled all her classes after noon so that she could sleep from four to eleven each morning. But she was perfectly capable of moving around during the day. That today was a muggy, cloudy day was merely a bonus.

She could see her favourite son and his girlfriend from here. It felt like spying, but Crina had spent three years without seeing her children and would take what she could get. Especially since he continued to be morose and silent during her classes. Hopefully Hermione was relaying to him what Crina had told her during the night. The girl had sounded convinced that Harry would come around.

Crina spread out her wings again, and headed out to fly over the Forbidden Forest. She flew for about an hour. A couple of centaurs fired arrows at her, which she caught and broke before letting them fall. Having enhanced reflexes was amusing sometimes. She would love to have a Seeker game against Harry, or even against Paul - them on a broomstick and she with her wings. Which was odd, considering she'd never been a great fan of flying or broomsticks before. It was different now. She didn't trust broomsticks, but she trusted her wings. She had full control of them.

She flew over the Hogwarts gate when she was joined by an eagle flying towards her. Her heart lifted as she recognized it. She smiled and followed it to a spot beside the lake. They landed at the same time, and Harry turned back into a human. They looked at each other silently, and Harry ran his hand through his hair.

"Er," he said. "Hermione explained what you said this morning. I'm - er - sorry. For being a stubborn git and all."

"That's alright," she said, a lump growing steadily in her throat.

"And I'd like to, well, get to know you better, Professor," he said, "And thanks for yesterday. For coming after me. Both times. I'd like to get to know you better - oh wait, I already said that. Sorry, I'm rambling already, aren't I? Perhaps call you Mum one day if you'll let me, and - can I get a hug?"

She opened her arms, and he rushed into them. He wept tears that only his mother could see and she heaved tearless sobs as she held him as tightly as she could without squeezing his ribs out. They wept for years missed in the past, for years together in future, for a mother's love lost and found.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was tired. The last few days had been full of more excitement than he could deal with. He put on a glamour and walked to the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade. The bartender recognized his disguised appearance and told one of his employees to take charge before nodding his head to the Headmaster. They headed together to the basement. 

"Greetings, kiddo," said Aberforth Dumbledore. "I was expecting you."

Albus took off his glamour and hugged his older brother. "You were there?"

There was no reason to explain where or when 'there' was. Aberforth didn't even bother to nod.

"I'm surprised it took so long to break my record," said the bartender, reaching for a bottle of single malt. "Ah well. It was nice to be the youngest registered Animagus in Britain for over a century."

"Technically you still have the record," said the Headmaster to the Goat Animagus. "He's not registered in Britain."

"Oh?" said Aberforth, filling two shot glasses. "Not registered, or registered elsewhere?"

"Switzerland," replied Albus. "Just like our favourite cousin did. So he does not have to register in Britain, and yet he remains legal. I think Minerva nearly had kittens when he turned into an eagle."

"Impressive," chuckled the bartender, "the boy can think, too. A true Slytherin."

Albus lifted his glass. "To Anne."

"To Janice," his brother replied. "May she be waiting for you, just as Anne is for me." They both tossed their drinks to the back of their throats.

They stopped coughing after a minute.

"Nana's knickers!" said Albus, using a popular imprecation from the middle 1800s. "That's good stuff."

"Course it is," replied his brother, pouring out another glassful. "It's Muggle. And Scottish." He paused. "So. Harry Potter. It's not the Animagus shit you're worried about, is it though?"

Albus explained what had happened to Harry after he unwittingly took the Portkey. He didn't have to explain about Lily's return, since he had already told his brother of that.

"We got lucky with the rebirth," said Aberforth. "Let's hope it stays that way. It won't stay that way forever, though."

"You're supposed to be comforting me, big brother."

"That was the comfort," said Aberforth. "Now comes the part where I take you on a guilt trip. You're wondering if you screwed up and got the Boy Who Lived wrong, aren't you? Can't say I blame you, given the number of times you've complained that everything other than the ego of young Paul Potter seems remarkably average."

Albus liked his brother. It was a lonely business being the most powerful Light Wizard in the nation. But his older brother always kept him in his place, and knew what he was thinking. If only the loss of his wife - their wives - at Grindelwald's hand had not happened, and his brother had not plunged into a decades long depression that he had never truly recovered from...

"Haven't I told you enough times, Albus, that I _like_ being a bartender? It's the most entertaining profession in the world! You watch people dancing on tables, getting thrown out, throwing them yourselves..."

Albus Dumbledore raised his hands in protest. "Who said I was thinking about that?"

"Because you always do, whenever we have a toast. You've got used to my world, I've got used to mine. I can tell you I prefer mine. Now, enough of that. What do you want to talk about?"

"I'm wondering if I missed some detail regarding the Potters."

"Hah! I told you so! I was right!"

"Do take your mouth to the tailors, Abe," sighed Albus with a mock grumble.

"Yes, yes, little brother. Let's see now. Halloween 1981. Lily and James Potter were away, Paul and Harry and Lily's mother were at home. Pettigrew was Secret Keeper. Voldemort got the secret from him and brought him to the house. Lily had placed an emergency experimental charm on her boys to ensure that if a willing sacrifice was made for them, they would be temporarily immune to Avada. When you lot got there, Voldemort was destroyed, Pettigrew and Lily's mother were both dead by Avada, Paul Potter was screaming his head off with a cut on his forehead from having survived Avada. Have I left anything out?"

"Pettigrew had the Dark Mark," said Albus, quietly contemplating the facts, as he had hundreds of times before.

"And even Nicholas verified that Paul had survived the Curse."

"Yes. Other experts too. The Charm definitely worked."

"I've always wondered why Voldemort would kill Pettigrew if he was a Death Eater."

"You know my opinion on that. He redeemed himself at the last moment by trying to save the boys. For all we know, Pettigrew's sacrifice added to the weight of their grandmother's sacrifice in protecting Paul Potter."

"You and your Redemption obsession," sighed Aberforth. "You never did get the chance to check Tom's wand."

"No, Lucius and his friends stole it from the Ministry too quickly."

"I suppose you'll just have to ask Tom himself then," said the bartender sarcastically. "When he returns. Which he will, of course."

* * *

_To those who've been asking whether Harry or Paul is the BWL, the facts described by Albus to Aberforth are correct. Paul did survive the Killing Curse. _

_But there's more to it than that, which you're welcome to guess at ;) _

_Crina cannot cry - vampires do not have working tear ducts in this fic. _


	6. The Rise of Lord Voldemort

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews and story alerts, both of which have now hit triple digits - it's been a week so I am most chuffed. You readers are truly lekker. _

_The plot of this story shifts significantly now. It is going to get darker. In canon, and certainly much of fanfiction, Voldemort comes off as an arrogant Cruciatus-happy megalomaniac. He's going to be much smarter than that here. If we must have heroes behaving smarter than in canon, we may as well have villains doing the same. _

* * *

It was a large dreary room with several half empty bookshelves. The fireplace crackled, and the smell of burning paper filled the air. Muggle books made excellent kindling. 

A cloaked woman approached, and knelt before a grotesque figure lounging in an old but elegant armchair.

"Rise, Citrina. Have you successfully infiltrated Hogwarts?" asked the being hosting the spirit of Lord Voldemort.

"Yes, my Lord," replied the woman.

"Speak at will. What happened during the first task?"

"Potter is an Eagle Animagus. This was how he escaped Rosier and Carnavon."

"What? Why was this not noticed before?"

"Even Dumbledore appeared surprised by it, my Lord. The boy is also displaying more power than one would expect, even for a Slytherin."

"How does he compare with Lucius' spawn?"

"Draco Malfoy is a fool, and no match for Harry Potter. But there is more."

"Go on."

"Potter is beginning to change attitudes in Slytherin. He is in a serious relationship with a Gryffindor Mudblood called Hermione Granger. The neutrals within Slytherin are beginning to think this is acceptable. So far only Blaise Zabini is his only public ally there, but this may change. The attitude of young Malfoy is truly Gryffindor in its stupidity."

"Perhaps I should have a talk with Lucius about his son. As for the Potter boy, what is his relationship with his family?"

"Poor, my Lord. James Potter tried to talk to him. Harry is still angry with him. He is jealous of the attention bestowed on his brother. At least that is the information I was able to obtain from McGonagall."

"Ah, Minerva, my old friend," sighed Voldemort with a note of mock wistfulness. "How is the old tabby doing?"

"She is a pathetic Occlumens."

"Of course she is." Voldemort laughed. The sound reminded Citrina of a troll in labour. "So Harry is angry? That sounds promising. Tell me, do you think Harry can be turned to our side? Is he a pawn of Dumbledore?"

"He is not pleased with Dumbledore. He only trusts the Mudblood, Zabini, and some Ravenclaws. There could be ideological problems, however. He has publicly proclaimed that Blood Purity is a myth. "

"That is useful information, Citrina. I will be aware of that when I try to recruit him. Very well. How much of an influence is his Mudblood whore?"

"They appear very attached. She is as smart as his mother was, and a major influence."

"Eliminate her influence. Make her push him away, or the reverse. Make sure he never trusts a Mudblood again."

"Yes, Lord. Should I kill her or her parents?"

"Do not kill her. That could make her a martyr in his eyes. But if they are not broken up by the New Year, kill her parents and blame it on an error of Dumbledore. You have many errors to choose from, I'm sure."

"Yes, my Lord. Is there anything else you wish me to do?"

"Yes. I need two vials worth of Harry Potter's blood. Can you obtain this?"

"I believe so, but it may cost me my cover."

"It is worth it. I can always send other spies in to complete the job of dealing with the Mudblood."

* * *

The next couple of weeks were uneventful. By Harry's recently acquired standards, that meant that they were eventful but all the events were related to normal student activities. His frequent visits to the Hospital Wing had messed up the Quidditch League schedule, and they had to play two matches the next weekend, against Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Slytherin were crushed by Durmstrang the same weekend as Krum caught the Snitch within two minutes. Harry managed to catch the Snitch both times, much to Cedric and Cho's chagrin, and the Beauxbatons team celebrations were entertainingly different from anything they had experienced with Slytherin. 

"The two of you should leave Hogwarts and join us in Beauxbatons," said Demaitre, the Quidditch captain. He had finished off a couple of bottles of Cuvee Speciale - a local red wine from the Breton part of France where he came from - but was still astonishingly sober. "You'll be able to be in the same house, and all you will not have to worry about all this politics!"

Harry looked at Hermione. She was wearing simple Muggle clothing, but her black jeans and loose white shirt with long fluffy sleeves were still causing him attention deficit problems. He was aware that his Quidditch captain was saying something, but that was about it.

"Ow!" cried Harry. "What did you do that for, Mione?" He rubbed the side of his stomach where she had not-so-gently prodded him with her elbow.

"You were staring off into space," she replied.

"We have no idea why, of course," added Michelle Levoy, one of the Beaters. Harry saw that she and Demaitre were smirking. He blushed, realizing what they had noticed.

"Er, sorry," he said, embarassed. "I didn't quite get that."

"Potter!" she hissed. "Get your mind down here right now! What were you thinking of anyway."

"An angel..." he replied.

"A what?" she asked, bemused. "Oh, hey Jean, are you alright?"

"Dot a probem, 'ermione," said Demaitre, reaching out for a napkin. "Just dum wine thru de dose."

Michelle burst out laughing. Harry blushed further. They were attracting a crowd now.

"What's going on?" asked Fleur, curious.

"Potter... staring into space... angel... Granger... Jean ... wine... nose... " said Michelle incoherently.

"Jean was just telling Harry here how he and I should come to Beauxbatons next year," answered Hermione more coherently.

"And what's so funny about that?" asked Fleur. "It's a good idea!"

"We're not laughing!" said Hermione defensively. "They are!" She pointed to Demaitre and Levoy, who were still trying to return their breathing patterns to something more regular.

"It's a long story," said Harry, in a voice that he hoped made it clear that he would not be doing any storytelling. Hermione would Hex him if she knew what he was thinking. "I'm sure they can explain it to you later. There's no way I could come to Beauxbatons - my father would not pay for me to go there."

"And if money was not a problem?" asked Fleur. "Would you come then? You would have to learn French, you know."

"If Hermione wanted to go and money was not a problem," replied Harry, looking at his girlfriend's face. She seemed very interested in the offer. "I would be delighted to. But it's impossible, so why think about it?"

"We have Quidditch scholarships," replied Demaitre. "You would get one at once."

"And I do not think Hermione would have any trouble getting an academic scholarship," added Fleur, "if what I have heard is true."

"Really?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"Madame Maxime has been talking to the teachers here about you," replied Fleur. "The short professor and the vampire were especially impressed."

There was a shout elsewhere in the party room, and Harry was very relieved as everyone's attention turned towards it.

* * *

Harry sat down next to Hermione at their Ancient Runes class one morning. He looked oddly pleased as they waited for Professor Gorgonzola to turn up. 

"Knut for your thoughts, birdbrain," she said as she looked in her satchel for her Sumerian Runes dictionary.

"It's worth more than a knut," he replied.

"You misunderstand, Potty," she countered in their traditional script for this particular banter. "You're giving me the knut for the privilege of sharing your thoughts with me."

"Snape gave me a message."

"So?"

"The message is for you."

She raised an eyebrow. Or at least she tried. Her other eyebrow went up a bit as well, much to her annoyance.

"Nothing much," replied Harry. "He just ordered me to take you to the Yule Ball this year."

"What?" she asked.

"He ordered me to go to the Yule Ball this year," Harry explained, "which automatically means you're going with me, right?" He noticed Hermione's absence of a response. "Unless you'd rather go with someone else. I've noticed you've been getting chummy with Miss Delacour... mmpf!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin!" said Professor Gorgonzola, walking into the room. "For indecent behaviour during class!"

* * *

Harry did not escape the Hospital Wing entirely during these two weeks. He was attacked by rabid leeches in one lesson and Professor Sprout took him to the Hospital Wing herself. Blaise began taking bets on how long it would take him to land there again. 

Much to Harry's chagrin, Hermione placed a bet for two weeks. When he complained about this to his mother - who he spent several hours talking with under the guise of a research project - she laughed her head off and contacted Blaise at once. Unfortunately for him, she just wanted to place a bet herself - for ten days.

Interhouse politics remained fairly stable, with the Draco Malfoy and Paul Potter loyalists keeping to themselves. Malfoy was behaving in a suspiciously subdued manner - Hermione even heard him criticizing Crabbe for using the word 'Mudblood' in her presence.

More people had been eating at the Neutral table, mostly from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. A few Gryffindors joined them, especially when all the Gryffindor team (other than Paul, their Seeker) did so at the same time. Hermione and Harry were much amused at how Katie Bell always managed to sit near Blaise. Terry told him that Blaise Bell was a cute name.

Surprisingly, the first new Slytherin to sit with the Neutrals was Millicent Bulstrode. Once she sat down, she was promptly flanked by Padma and Cho, who quickly found that they had a mutual interest in the prospects of the Holyhead Harpies. Hermione wanted to join them, but Blaise stopped her, saying that Millicent would have less trouble dealing with the other Slytherins if she did not immediately associate with Muggleborns. Both Padma and Cho were Purebloods. Hermione wasn't happy, but she understood.

In retrospect, Harry realized he should not have been too surprised with Millicent's approach. He considered her the Slytherin best able to defend themselves in his year, other than himself. And this was fortunate, because Bulstrode was promptly attacked by some Seventh Years. She fought them off by herself - by the time Harry and Blaise realized she was in trouble and got to her side, her attackers were lying on the ground suffering from third degree burns.

She received a week of detentions with Professor Snape for that, much to the Neutrals' disgust. The Weasley twins even asked her if she had any 'prank requests' for her Head of House. She looked at them warily and said she would think about it once her detentions were complete. Then George gave her a dare to have a three-way Beaters contest, and the evil grin on her face caused the rapid creation of another impromptu betting pool.

* * *

A few days later, Snape asked Harry to stay behind after Potions. Hermione, who had been working with Neville while Harry worked with Blaise, gave her boyfriend a glance to say that she would be waiting outside. After a couple of minutes, she heard two surprised screams. Ignoring what Snape could do to her, she rushed back inside. 

Harry was on his knees, clutching the back of his head again. She could already see a trickle of red running down his neck, nearly reaching his robes. Meanwhile, Snape was clutching his left forearm and wearing a look of horror.

"Granger!" shouted the teacher. But there was no trace of his usual snide and bitter demeanour. "Stun him!" Snape looked terrified, and the thought of anything that could terrify Snape was, in Hermione's opinion, _extremely_ terrifying.

Recalling what the Headmaster had done three weeks previously, Hermione sent a red bolt of light at Harry, who crumpled. She wondered why Snape had not stunned Harry himself, and looked up. But the man had already dashed into his office.

She dashed out the door into the corridor to look for help. To her immense relief, Blaise was already walking back to the Potions classroom, presumably wondering why Harry had not followed him to their Charms lesson.

"Blaise!" she cried. "Harry's hurt! We need to get him to the Hospital Wing!"

Blaise resisted the temptation to shout 'Again?' and rushed after her into the classroom. He crashed into Snape in the doorway and fell to the cold stone floor.

"Zabini!" shouted the older wizard. "Get Potter to Pomfrey now! Granger must tell the Headmaster _exactly_ what happened!"

Blaise suddenly realized that Snape has holding a white mask. He paled. The Potions Master followed his gaze and swore when he realized what Blaise had seen.

"You have seen nothing, Zabini!" Snape hissed before shrinking the mask and running off again.

Blaise stared, shocked. He had heard rumours that Snape had been a Death Eater, but had never actually believed them. It was too obvious for such a bitter, vengeful and biased individual to actually be a Death Eater. And now to see it actually in the flesh...

"Blaise!" hissed Hermione, rushing out of the classroom. "Get Harry to the Hospital Wing!"

"Right," said Blaise unsteadily. "And you? Oh, and Snape said you should see Dumble..."

"Yes, he said that to me too," she shouted before running off.

Still in a state of shock, Blaise entered the Potions classroom and prepared to levitate Harry. Then he remembered that the previous attack had worn off quickly. Perhaps it was over by now? He enervated Harry again.

Harry screamed.

_"Stupefy,"_ sighed Blaise. _"Mobilicorpus."_

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, reading some of the new suggestions that had come in. They alternated between the good, the bad, and the hilarious. The one he was reading right now was the seventy first he had received that requested that Binns cease teaching the History of Sleep. He put it in the 'Dealt With' pile. He had already told Binns that this was the last term he would be teaching and placed several ads in British, Irish, and other European newspapers asking for applications. 

He sighed. How could he have let Binns teach for so long? He had been completely unaware of just how deep resentment against the History teacher ran. And if he could not keep track of such things, then he did not deserve to be Headmaster.

He would resign at the end of this year, he decided, and let Minerva take over. He would announce that decision soon, just before students left for Christmas.

He heard a commotion downstairs, and gazed into his periscopic setup of mirrors to see who was trying to play the Guess The Password game with the gargoyles guarding his office. When he saw that it was Hermione Granger, he waved his wand to cast a spell that would allow her entrance.

After half a minute, she stepped into his office. She had been running, and was obviously not used to the physical effort.

"Headmaster!" she said, panting. "Harry got the pain in the back of his head again! It was bleeding!"

Albus blinked. That was unusual, yes, but surely not why she had run here.

"Professor Snape sent me," she continued, her hands still on her knees. "He was holding his left arm - like this - at the same time that Harry was hurting. He looked - he looked scared! And then he rushed into his office, and came out again - he was holding something white - and then ran off - maybe to the gates - he told me to come tell you. He looked terrified, sir!"

Albus Dumbledore's face paled, which terrified Hermione even more. The puzzle pieces in his mind were coming apart rapidly and coming together to form a picture that he definitely did not want to see.

He stood, and walked to the exit. "Come with me, Hermione." If she noticed the use of her first name, she said nothing of it. "Is Harry in the Hospital Wing?"

"He should be," she said, following him. "Blaise took him."

"Let us follow him there, then."

They walked quickly, and Albus asked the student several questions while maintaining a portable silencing charm within two metres of himself. His gait was surprisingly fast, and Hermione had to run a few times to catch him up.

By the time they reached the Hospital Wing, he had asked her several questions about the timings of Harry's previous 'headaches' and whether he had had any 'odd' dreams. Her answers were unnerving, and causing him to gravitate rather rapidly to the hypothesis that the killing curse that Paul Potter survived had not been fired by Lord Voldemort, but by Peter Pettigrew.

Which would mean that he was now rushing to the Hospital Wing to meet the real Boy Who Lived.

"Oh dear," he thought. "This changes everything."

* * *

Hermione was spreading butter on her toast when the Daily Prophet owls arrived the next morning. Her subscription landed in front of her, narrowly missing her coffee. It did manage to land on the tongs of a fork that then headed for her boyfriend sitting opposite her. He was still feeling miffed at having had to spend the night in the Hospital Wing. 

"Hey!" he shouted as he dodged the fork.

She ignored his protests as she reached for her coffee and the morning paper.

"HEY!"

She ignored his protests as he wiped off the coffee on his face that she had just sprayed at him.

Other newspapers had been scattered across the Hall, and there were scattered cries of varying degrees of loudness and shock. Hermione was still looking at her newspaper with her mouth open, and Harry realized something was very wrong. Resisting the temptation to jump over the table, he walked around so he could see what the newspaper said.

_NATIONWIDE ATTACKS KILL TWENTY!_

He read over her shoulder that there had been eight attacks at around eight o'clock the previous night by unknown assailants. Twenty witches and wizards were named, and some of the surnames looked familiar, though none were in Slytherin.

He looked up at the Head Table. Dumbledore was there, looking very old. McGonagall was there, looking horrified. Snape was ... not there.

He glanced over at Blaise. His friend had also noticed the absence of the Potions Master... and was indicating to Harry that they needed to talk? Outside? With Hermione?

"Hermione," he said softly. "Blaise wants to talk with us." Blaise made jabbing gestures in the direction of the doors of the Great Hall. "Outside."

She said nothing as she got up and followed them. They walked out of the castle, and headed for the lake. It was a bright and glorious day that completely belied the import of the news they had just received.

As they approached the lake, Blaise explained that he had seen Snape's white mask. Harry understood the implication at once, as did Hermione. Despite their shared dislike of the man, they were both as shocked as Blaise had been.

"But he can't be a Death Eater!" cried Hermione. "Dumbledore would know! He wouldn't have hired one!"

There was a cough behind them.

"Mum!" cried Harry. "Stop sneaking up on us!"

"He is a Death Eater," said Professor Vanescu behind them. Her silent approaches were a running joke amongst Harry's friends. (Fortunately, the teasing had stopped once he left Blaise stuck to their dormitory ceiling for two hours.) And that was just her capacity to sneak up on him - her vampiric ability to track him had earned several looks of pity from Blaise and of relief from Hermione.

"But", Crina added, "he's been a spy for Dumbledore since the middle of 1981. The Death Eaters think he is a spy _on_ Dumbledore _for_ them."

"A double agent?" asked Hermione.

"Yep," replied Crina.

"Wossat?" asked Blaise. Harry looked similarly enquiring.

"Muggle term for a spy who works for both sides," replied Hermione. "Each side thinks he works for their side and that the other side is silly enough to believe he's working for _their_ side. I'll lend you some storybooks on that if you like."

Blaise nodded uncertainly. He'd got the bit up to 'both sides' and the word 'storybook', but the rest was over his head. Still, he thought he understood the basic concept, and wasn't sure whether to feel pity, respect, or disdain for his Head of House.

"Do you know anything about the attacks, Mum?" asked Harry.

"It's very much Voldemort's style," replied their teacher, causing a visible flinch from Blaise. "I think he's back. Dumbledore said there were Dark Marks at all the attack locations, but that was not printed in the Prophet."

Back. Lord Voldemort had returned to the wizarding world.

Blaise sat down on the grass. Heavily.

"But how?" asked Harry. "The Headmaster said he needed my or Paul's blood or flesh to do this! I've been on Hogwarts grounds ever since the First Task!"

"Maybe Paul snuck off to Hogsmeade?" suggested Hermione. "He's got his methods." She didn't name the Invisibility Cloak for Harry's sake. "But we would have known if he had been attacked."

"Actually," said Crina, "I wanted to ask you if there was ever an opportunity for someone to collect blood from you in the past month."

"Er," said Harry. "What?"

"This would be so much easier to explain if you were a girl," muttered Crina, causing Hermione to blush wildly. Blaise started snickering after several seconds.

Harry remained oblivious.

"Um, not in the Quidditch matches," he said thoughtfully. "I did get hit during duelling practise, but that was always with Hermione or Blaise or Cedric."

"The leeches!" shouted Blaise suddenly.

"What leeches?" asked Harry. "Oh, _that_ Herbology lesson..."

"Yeah," replied Blaise. "When Professor Sprout tripped and hit that bucket of leeches on the shelf onto your arm!"

"Professor _Sprout_," asked Hermione with a note of high skepticism. "Helping You-Know-Who? That's ridiculous!"

"She could have been under Imperius," said Crina thoughtfully, "though how a class of observant Slytherins would fail to notice that is not clear."

"One of us might have Imperiused her," offered Blaise. "And undone it very quickly."

"She had sunglasses that day," added Harry suddenly. "It wasn't very sunny and Daphne asked if she was alright, remember? She said she was having eye problems!"

"And a sore throat," recalled Blaise.

"Oh dear," said Hermione. "This isn't very good, is it?"

"We're going to see the Headmaster _now_," said Professor Vanescu. Blaise got up, and the quartet proceeded back to the castle.

* * *

_A/N: Certain things are happening in my life, and I may have to give up this fic. If this story does not get updated within three days, then there will be no more updates for a long, long time. In this event, I will leave notes on the remaining mysteries in this fic in a file on **http / groups . yahoo . com / group / vanescu**. Do not read that file if you dislike spoilers! _

_Reviews will be appreciated as always, even though this is a shorter chapter than normal. _

_Incidentally, I'm also posting this simultaneously on Portkey. Portkeyers are much worse at reviewing than ffnetters. By the time of posting, 615 people had read Chapter 5 on Portkey and 7 had left reviews, meaning that one in 87 readers left a review. In contrast, 32 out of 1088 - one in 34 - readers left a review on ffnet. Does this correlate with other authors' experiences?  
_


	7. Purebloods, Quidditch, and Poisoning

_A/N: Thanks to everyone for their words of support regarding my continuation of this fic. I'll do what I can till I have to cease writing - I'll just have to be faster about it. _

_The last chapter confused many people about who exactly Crina is. I'm so sorry ... well, I would be if I didn't have an evil grin firmly plastered on my face... All will be revealed. Trust your instincts. _

* * *

It was a cold November day. Every Hogwarts student had been practising warming charms, or warming up to students who had. 

Two figures soared above the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch. One was much larger than the other. Neither had broomsticks. Both had wings. And the smaller one was screeching loudly.

"Harry's got the Snitch!"

Hermione looked up from the book ('Vampires: a History') she had been reading.

A bird was falling from the air to the ground.

"Harry!" she screamed.

The falling eagle spread out its wings as it neared the ground and glided elegantly to a halt just above the grass. It dropped the Snitch it was gripping in its talons, and transformed into a bespectacled messy-haired green eyed teenager wearing khaki shorts and a t-shirt that said in loud gothic font, 'Semper in excreta, solo profundem variat'. He was smiling brightly as he held out the Snitch for his small audience to see.

His smile vanished when he looked to the seat in the stands where his girlfriend was sitting. _Had been sitting_. The smile was replaced by a look of confusion, then worry, as he realized that Hermione was absent.

He looked to his right, where his mother, whom he had just beaten three to two in a best-of-five game of one-on-one broomstickless Snitch hunting, was smirking. He frowned. She should be scowling at her defeat, not smirking, if her behaviour the previous two times he had beaten her were any indication. He followed her gaze.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

If he hadn't just sweated all the uric acid out of himself already, he would have pissed himself.

"Raging witch at three o'clock," said Crina in a manner of calculated disinterest.

In the stands, sickles changed hands.

"What in Merlin's name were you thinking, Potter? You gave me a heart attack when you pulled off that stunt! What possessed you to stop flying? And you had already caught the Snitch! You just wanted to get to the ground faster for your ruddy victory parade, didn't you?"

Crina decided to come to her son's rescue.

"Hermione," said the vampire with a soothing smile. "I'm sure that Harry would never do a move like that without having practised it several times. Isn't that right, Harry? Tell us how many times you practised that."

"Er," replied Harry. "Less than ... well..."

Crina's eyes narrowed. Harry gulped, and looked firmly at the grass at his feet.

"Thiswasmyfirsttime," he said quietly and very quickly.

The hair on Crina's head started trembling and moving of its own accord. She opened her mouth, and then seemed to recall that this was a public location and that only Harry's closest friends knew that she was his long lost mother.

"Go ahead," Crina said in a stiff emotionless voice to Hermione before taking to the skies again. She needed to get to the forest and let off a good rant. Perhaps she would put it in a Pensieve and make Harry watch it later.

Behind her, she could hear her future daughter-in-law continue berating her son enough for two people. Which was, of course, precisely what she was supposed to do.

* * *

Ginny Weasley was with one of her childhood friends as they walked from their Charms class. Three figures stepped in front of them. The first was Potter - the wrong Potter. The second was the treacherous know-it-all bookworm. The third was a chubby wizard. 

"Neville?" she gasped. "What are you doing with _them_? They're, they're..."

"Evil blood-sucking monsters?" offered Hermione sweetly, before inwardly kicking herself. She really had to stop using blood-sucking as a derogatory adjective.

"They're my friends," said Neville with more confidence than she had given him credit for. "Hello Ginny. Hello Luna. We have learnt something that affects the Potters. Er, both Potters - Harry and Paul. Harry knows and, well, Paul needs to know as well."

"Well? Why don't you go tell him yourself?" asked Ginny warily. She would have been less polite, but Luna's hand was firmly on her arm. And Luna was as calm as always.

"Do you think Paul would listen to us?" asked the bookworm. "But he will listen to you, if you tell him."

"What makes you think _I_ will listen to _you_?" asked Ginny.

"Because they're telling the truth, Ginny," said Luna next to her. "There aren't any Wrackspurts around them."

Ginny grumbled, but acquiesced. "Alright," said the redhead. "I'll talk with you. We'll go in there." She pointed to the door of an abandoned classroom. "And Potter here stays here."

"What?" hissed Hermione. Neville did not look particularly pleased, either.

"It's alright, Mione," said Harry. "You know everything I do." He kissed her cheek. "I trust you." He turned to Neville. "Take care of My Only, Nev. And make sure Ginny listens to the whole story before she goes ballistic and leaves." Neville nodded back seriously.

Ginny was surprised. No-one in Gryffindor ever took Neville seriously. Perhaps they had underestimated ... no. He was just playing a part in whatever evil play Harry and Hermione had cooked up.

"I am not going into a room with _you_, Granger," hissed Ginny, "if you are armed. Give me your wand."

"Are you kidding, Weasley?" Hermione spit back. Harry was already disappearing around the corner while the four of them remained where they were.

"Stop this," said Luna sternly.

They stopped, surprised.

"The Wrackspurts are getting closer," said Luna. "We must talk. Ginny and Hermione do not trust each other. Let Ginny give her wand to Neville and I'll take Hermione's wand."

Hermione and Ginny immediately protested, but were hushed rapidly when their allies calmed them down. They handed over their wands, and entered the classroom. Neville went in first, followed by Hermione and Ginny. Luna brought up the rear, and promptly began placing silencing wards around the classroom. Hermione nodded approvingly.

Twenty minutes later, Ginny stormed out of the classroom. Luna looked at Hermione, who shrugged.

"I've told her everything," said the brunette.

"What do you think, Luna?" asked Neville, handing over Ginny's wand so that Luna could return it to her.

"It would explain a lot," said Luna seriously as she returned Hermione's wand to her. "You know the rumours."

Hermione sighed. She did, indeed, know the rumours. The amount of time Crina was spending with Harry outside class was well above average. She even had a list of rumours that she had heard. Most of them concentrated on Professor Vanescu and Harry Potter having an affair. Opinions differed on whether Hermione was (a) a stupid trusting girl being duped by her by her boyfriend, (b) participating in a wild threesome, (c) under the influence of a love potion, (d) in the process of being Turned, (e) already a Vampire and helping Crina in a huge bloodsucker conspiracy to get closer to the Boy Who Lived through his brother.

"Why haven't you told anyone else this?" asked Luna. Neville raised his eyebrows. He had seen Luna a few times before, with Ginny, when she was younger and not the most popular witch in Gryffindor. He didn't recall Luna being this... normal.

"We wanted to tell Paul first," replied Hermione. "He has a right to know."

"Ginny won't tell him," replied Luna. "She'll be too scared that Paul will break up with her if she tells him about this."

"Oh, that's just bloody fantastic!" said Hermione disgustedly. "All this for nothing!"

"Hermione!" said Neville suddenly. "It's not nothing! Perhaps Luna can help!"

"You?" said Hermione to Luna. "What can you do? I've never seen you with Paul! Will Paul believe you if you tell him?"

Luna stared back, unfazed. "No, but I can get you to believe me when I tell you that you should tell him."

"What?" asked a bemused Hermione.

"You all feel that Paul should be told that Professor Vanescu is his mother. Why do you feel that he should believe you when told?"

Neville hadn't seen Hermione speechless before. It was an intriguing sight, he thought, and one that Harry would be very interested in hearing a description about. He smiled to himself. His new group of friends made life much more interesting than it had been.

* * *

Paul Potter was Owled a note the next morning. It was from his brother, and opened it after checking it for curses. 

_Paul, this is Harry. I've got news about Mum (Lily, not the other woman). She was not killed by vampires in 1987. She was Turned into a vampire. She lost her memory for five years. When she tried to contact us again, James stopped her. She wants to meet you. I didn't believe her at first, but now I know she's for real. Do you want to meet her? _

Unbeknownst to Paul, this was not what Harry had initially wanted to write. He had wanted to tell Paul at once that Crina was a vampire, since Harry had no objection to hitting his brother with all the painful details at once. But his mother, bless her unbeating heart, had firmly put that idea 'back in the bowels of hell where it belonged', saying that she wanted to talk to Paul, not push him away. Harry had scowled, but agreed - once Blaise had talked to him quite firmly. He was still getting used to having a parent he could trust.

Paul Potter cast an Incendio at the note and stormed off to the Neutral table where his brother was having supper.

"How dare you?" screamed Paul before storming out of the Great Hall.

Ginny had been sitting next to Paul when the owl arrived. She picked up the note he had read. The sender must have anticipated Paul's response and cast a fireproof charm on it. She scowled as she read it, and turned to the Neutral table to glare at Granger and Granger's Potter.

Hermione smiled sweetly, and then gave her a serious look.

Still clutching the note, Ginny left the Great Hall to find her boyfriend.

"What was that about?" asked Padma. Hermione glanced at the Head Table, where Professor Vanescu had ignored the exchange between her sons and was still in the midst of a technical discussion with Professor Snape.

"Why are you looking at her?" asked Padma. "Oh, she's talking to Snappy again. What do they talk about?"

"Potions," said Harry absently. He was sitting next to Hermione, on the other side of Padma. "She's very good at it, and they talk a lot about that."

"It's very technical," added Hermione. "You'd love it." It was a well known fact, even if Hermione had not particularly welcomed it at first, that Padma was far better than she was at Potions. Hermione was marginally better at following instructions, but Padma was light years ahead of _making_ her own instructions.

"Oh," said Padma, looking at the pair of Professors with new interest. "Maybe we can ask them to give us a joint seminar or something." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "Wait a minute. You didn't answer my question. What was that thing with Bighead and the Weaselette about? And what does our favourite befanged educator have to do with it?"

Hermione glanced at Harry. He gave her a pleading look.

"We'd like to tell you," said Hermione slowly. "All of you. But it involves Paul, and he deserves to know first."

"Ahhhh," replied the Ravenclaw. "I see. It sounds like you just told him though."

"No," sighed Hermione. "We only told him half of it."

"Half of it?" said Padma incredulously. "And he went off like that?"

"Yeah," muttered Harry. "Mum wouldn't let me tell him all of .. oh, shit."

"Mu..." said Padma before Hermione clamped her hand around her mouth.

"Quiet!" whispered Hermione into her ear. "Will you be quiet if I let you go?"

Padma nodded, wide-eyed. Harry had his head in his hands.

"Sorry about that," said Hermione, removing her hand. Others were already looking at them. "Nothing to see here, you lot. I was just telling Padma here that Terry's cheating on her with the Giant Squid."

The look on Terry's face was priceless as the Neutrals roared with laughter.

"Merlin," said Padma as the noise died down. "I think I understand everything now. And don't worry, I'll keep my mouth shut. But I would like the full story later."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks, Paddy."

"Don't call me Paddy!"

"I won't," replied Hermione with a smirk, "on condition that you tell me everything you know about Luna Lovegood."

* * *

"How is the mission proceeding, Citrina?" asked the tall robed man with red eyes. 

"Very well, master. I am not suspected. And my spies have brought me news."

Citrina explained what she had found. After a long pause, Lord VOldemort replied.

"Very well. I had not anticipated this. It changes little, but I must know more. Contact the Head of the Impali vampire clan. He will know what I need to know."

"Yes, my Lord. I will contact him at once. May I take Lucius with me?"

"That is an excellent idea, Citrina," replied Lord Voldemort. He glanced at the parchment on his desk on which he had been working out the equations for a new spell to skin a person and keep them alive longer while doing so. "He knows them well. Contact him first and tell him I ordered him to help you where necessary. Have you any other news?"

"I have, my Lord. Severus is a spy for Dumbledore."

"WHAT?" roared the Dark Lord. "Explain!"

"I was at a meeting with him and the old coot. Snape told him _everything_ that you had told him. He cannot be on your side."

It was ten minutes before Lord Voldemort spoke again. Citrina said nothing in that time.

"Who else was at this meeting?" he asked. She told him. "I see. This could work in our favour. Yes, it definitely will. I will not kill him yet. Not for a few months." He glanced down at the parchment again. "He will make an excellent test subject."

* * *

A week passed. It was the middle of November, and Durmstrang had just beaten Gryffindor 200 to 180. It had been an exciting match, with the Gryffindor Chasers and Beaters having the game of their lives against a Durmstrang team that relied too heavily on its world class Seeker. The Lions had been leading 180 to 50 when Krum caught the Snitch in a fantastic move that had left Harry rapidly reconsidering his long-held belief that he might be good enough to play professional Quidditch. 

"Krum is a prodigy," said Blaise when Harry voiced his concerns. "You're merely very very good. You could probably beat more than half the Seekers in professional Quidditch right now, and you're not trained yet. Why don't you go ask him for some tips?"

Harry shrugged, and said he'd think about it. He resolved to congratulate Krum on a good match later, and then headed for the Gryffindor locker room.

"I was very impressed," he offered upon seeking their dejected looks and the general atmosphere of gloom in the locker room.

His brother, the Gryffindor Seeker, saw him and scowled. The others remained morose or stone-faced.

"I would never have caught the Snitch," Harry continued, looking at Paul. "You did very well to hold him off as long as you did."

"It wasn't bloody well long enough, was it?" yelled Paul back.

Harry looked around. Angelina and the twins had told him several times that they wished he had been a Gryffindor. The twins had even told him that their sister would probably be a better Seeker than his brother, but Ginny refused to try out for that position and claimed to be content with her position as a Reserve Chaser. Not that Paul was a terrible Seeker by any means, but a better Seeker (such as Harry) would definitely have been able to hold Krum off long enough for the Chasers to rack up a substantial enough lead.

Therefore, Harry said nothing to deny or agree with Paul's statement. He was still waiting for his brother to approach him to ask about their mother.

"Our favourite Dark Lord In Training is correct," said one of the Weasley twins, standing up. "Thanks, Harry. We're going to have a We-Lost-But-Who-Cares party in the Gryffindor Common Room. Are you coming?"

"WHAT?" yelled Paul. Ron Weasley, the Gryffindor Keeper, expressed similar sentiments.

"Shut up, Potter and Weasley," said Angelina. She sighed as five faces turned to look at her. "Shut up, Paul and Ronald. The twins have good ideas once in a while, and this is one of them. Would you like to come with us? Hermione will be there."

"No, she won't," replied Harry. "She's never attended one of your parties. People like them -" He pointed at Paul and Ron. "- teased her. And no-one ever stopped it."

The Chasers and Beaters winced.

"I apologize, Harry," replied Angelina. "I never noticed. I never thought to notice, either,. Not that that's an excuse."

"I second that," interrupted Alicia Spinnet. "And we will apologize to Hermione as well. It would be good for Gryffindor if you come. Both of you."

"Are you nuts?" yelled Ron, pointing to Harry. "I'm not going to be at a party if _he's_ there."

"Excellent," said Fred or George. "That will mean we don't have to babysit you at the party. Would you like to come, Harry?"

Harry nodded, and realized that his attempts to bring Paul to his senses - and thus to their mother - would be harder than even he had expected. His brother had never reacted very well to humiliation.

* * *

Neville came down late to breakfast the next morning, holding his head. Amongst Harry's allies, only the girls were at the Neutral table. The other regular Neutrals were there as well, and he nodded to a couple he vaguely knew. 

"Oy there," said Padma. "Look, it's a male!"

Neville grunted.

"Someone had too much butterbeer last night," sang Cho.

"I - say, where's Diggles?" he asked, nodding gratefully to Hermione when she placed a full glass of cold water in front of him.

"Oy!" retorted Cho. "Only I get to call him Diggles. You get your own Diggles."

Neville smirked, and downed the water in one big swig. Hermione and Padma looked vaguely impressed, even if Padma then muttered 'Boys!'

"He was on the Durmstrang boat," replied Cho. "There was a huge party there."

"So were Terry and Blaise," added Padma. "And us, but we left early. I can tell you it wasn't just butterbeer floating around there."

Hermione coughed guiltily. Butterbeer had not been the only beverage available at her first enjoyable Gryffindor party either. She hadn't realized firewhisky with hot cocoa would be as ... fascinating and in need of intensive personal research as it had been.

"I think Krum wanted Harry there as well," added Padma, suddenly looking nervous. "But the Gryffies got to Harry first"

"It's not like Harry would have agreed to go, either," said Cho. She looked guilty as well, and Hermione gave her a curious look. The Ravenclaw Seeker looked at her housemate.

"Well," replied Padma. "You know Harry would never have gone to a party without you, right? And the thing is, well, you know how Durmstrang is with all that blood purity stuff."

Hermione suddenly understood. Durmstrang did not permit Muggleborns to attend. She would not have been allowed on the Durmstrang ship.

And her friends - all Purebloods - had gone on it anyway.

"I see," she said slowly, a betrayed look on her face.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione," said Padma with a pleading look. "We never realized it until later. Well, not quite, I did..."

"Never mind," said Hermione sternly. Her face became emotionless and she waved down their attempts to apologize. "I've got a book on Animagus training to read." She stood up and left.

"Bugger," said Cho.

Padma looked equally ashen faced.

Neville looked at them both, and said nothing. He had wanted to ask them what they knew about the girl who had been with Ginny, since she was in their house, but this didn't seem like the time.

"Think she'll forgive us?" asked Padma.

"Probably," replied Cho. "Trust us unconditionally? Not for a long time. Will she forget it? I doubt it."

"I'm never getting on that boat again," sighed Padma.

Cho grunted. "_That_ was a statement of the bleeding obvious, Paddy."

Neville stood. "I'm going to talk to her. You explain to Harry." He walked away. Then he stopped, and walked back. "I am curious," he said. "What were you both thinking when you went on the boat? And Blaise, Cedric, and Terry. What did they think?"

Cho winced. "I can't speak for anyone else. It was a great party. Durmstrang is famous for their parties. I have cousins who went there, you know? I even had a great time. I suppose I knew that I wouldn't have been allowed there if I was Muggleborn. But I'm not Muggleborn. I've never thought I was. I don't know what it feels like to be that. It's hard to not be a part of the society you grew up in."

"What she said," added Padma, looking morosely at her coffee cup. The drink was cold and disgusting, so she drank it in a useless act of penance.

"I can understand some of that," said Neville gravely. "I'm Pureblood, but - I understand what it means to be an outsider. Thing is, would you do it again?"

"Go to a Durmstrang party on their boat?" asked Cho. "Never!"

"What she said," repeated Padma. She looked over to see if Hermione had any coffee left over so she could do further penance.

"I meant any other event where Muggleborns would be banned," Neville replied. "I would say any other event where Muggleborns would be treated different, but that would exclude most things I can think of."

"It's hard, Neville," sighed Cho. "You just said it yourself. Muggleborns are treated like ... you know. It's so ingrained in us that certain traditions are what they are that it's hard to unlearn them."

* * *

November ended with Beauxbatons playing Slytherin. The French team was leading twenty to ten when their adopted Slytherin caught the Snitch for them. Harry and Blaise slept in an old classroom for the next week, when the Weasley twins told them of a peculiar room called the Room of Requirements. They did not plan to ever sleep in Slytherin again. 

Meanwhile, Fred and George and Blaise began planning an exhibition for the best facial expressions seen on Hogwarts students that year. Blaise contributed his pictures of Ron flying without a broomstick, as well as Draco's face when Cedric and Harry caught the Snitch.

* * *

Hermione returned to her usual self after a couple of days, much to the relief of the others. Harry seemed more sympathetic to their mistake, being inordinately aware of Pureblood politics and social niceties, but was impossible to truly read. 

For his part, Harry had begun to spend time with Viktor Krum, mostly discussing Seeker tactics. Krum was a Pureblood and proud of it. He was indocrinated with stereotypes, but had the strange habit of making individual judgements without them.

"You know," said Viktor, "if Ermynee was not your girlfriend, I would have asked her to go to the Yule Ball with me."

"Her-my-o-nee," corrected Harry absently. Then he seemed to realize what else the Bulgarian Seeker had said. "What?"

"Be at peace," smiled Viktor. "I am not trying to steal her from you. Besides, she is her own witch and would not want to be stolen. I am merely appreciating her as a good woman. Surely you can understand this?"

"Oh," said Harry. He suddenly recalled the argument about the Durmstrang party. "But, er, I'm curious. You know she's Muggleborn, don't you?"

"Yes," replied Viktor. "And I would never marry a Muggleborn. It would not be right, not with my family. I would not want to subject her to that. But she is very ... intriguing, wouldn't you say? She does not know how pretty she is, and I suspect she has interesting opinions. I would enjoy going to social occasions with her - I am usually bored to death."

Harry smiled a little. "Have you had Muggleborn girlfriends?" he asked.

"Of course," replied the older wizard. "Though it is difficult to meet them at Durmstrang, since they aren't there." He did not sound opposed to or in favour of his school's policies. Harry figured he just accepted them as the way things were. "But a Beater and the reserve Keeper on the Bulgarian team are Mud - I'm sorry, Muggleborn, old habits are hard to break - and they are good people. They have very interesting opinions as well."

"So the Muggleborns you know have interesting opinions, and Hermione is a Muggleborn and therefore you thought she also has interesting opinions?"

"Something like that," said Viktor. "You mean she does not?"

"Of course she does! She's the most brilliant witch in the school! And she has very interesting opinions!"

"Well then," said Viktor amicably. "I was right, no?"

Harry pondered the question of whether all Muggleborns had interesting opinions, but figured that Krum was intelligent enough to treat that statement as one of generality and not certainty.

"What does your family say about your Muggleborn girlfriends?" asked Harry curiously.

"My family is, by our standards, very liberal. I can date anyone, as long as I marry the Pureblood witch they have arranged for me."

"You've already got someone arranged for you?"

"Yes, of course. Her name is Tanya. She's very nice."

"Oh," said Harry. "Er - she has interesting opinions, I hope."

"Interesting enough," replied Viktor. "She's also very beautiful."

"Right," said Harry slowly. "Say, if you don't mind my asking, what would happen if you fell in love with one of your girlfriends?"

"I endeavour not to," replied Krum calmly.

"So you just string them along?"

"Don't insult me, Harry. I am very straightforward with them. I tell them there is no hope of anything permanent. They know the demands of my family, and that I love my family too much to go against them."

"You're strange, Viktor."

"We are merely different, Harry. I fully expect an invitation to your wedding with Ermynee. I can even offer you a Honeymoon villa in Llubijana if you wish."

"Her-my-o-nee. Oh, and - er - thanks."

* * *

On the last day of November, Neville finally got a chance to ask Cho and Padma if they happened to know anything about Luna Lovegood. He regretted it immediately. The predatory looks on their faces promised him much grief and sorrow. 

He was mollified, somewhat, when the blonde and dreamy Ravenclaw was seen walking around with a book on exotic plants that he had never seen before. She also proved quite willing to let him look at it. He didn't mind, especially since she was willing to hang around while he did so. That way, he could ask her questions.

Questions about the plants in the book.

Mostly.

* * *

December 1994 began with news of more attacks, mostly on Muggles, by Death Eaters. Some French newspapers published photos of Dark Marks over ruined houses, and Fudge was forced to admit that You-Know-Who was back. 

The fact that Harry's blood had been used to resurrect Voldemort was not public knowledge. Only he, Blaise, Hermione, Vanescu, Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore knew that. And Lord Voldemort, of course.

Hermione had been frantic with worry about her parents, but her Head of House assured her that they would be getting extra protection, along with other families of Muggleborns.

It was ironic, in an environment where those with Muggle connections were the most at risk, that the next student to be attacked at Hogwarts was a Pureblood.

Millicent Bulstrode had been regularly sitting at both the Slytherin and Neutral tables. A few of the more intrepid Slytherins had followed her example. She was having breakfast at the Neutral table in early December when she turned pale and collapsed. Snape was immediately at her side, followed by Vanescu. They managed to brew a counter Potion between them quickly enough to save her - a Bezoar had proven inadequate - but she was still sent to the Hospital Wing for a week. She never returned to the Neutral table, and Blaise and Harry were once again the lone Slytherins there.

Citrina was delighted by this development. As well she should have been, considering it had been her who had Imperiused a naive student to cast the switching spell that had placed the poison in Bulstrode's cup.

* * *

_A/N: __"Semper in excreta, solo profundem variat" is from Argonaut57's "The Labyrinth of Amagor" (Chapter 12) on Fiction Alley. It means, allegedly, "Always in the shit, only the depth varies."_

_Some people enjoyed the statistics of this fic, so here are some more. Bear in mind that the way the number of hits is counted by websites may not be accurate. Stats were read at the end of October 11 2006, nine days after the fic was begun. Note that chapter 1 to 5 were posted simultaneously on Portkey, so ignore the number of reviews for chapters 1 to 4 there. _

_Chapter: number of hits on FFdotNET (number of reviews on FFdotNET), number of hits on Portkey (number of reviews on Portkey)   
1 : 4662 (20) , 1951 (4)  
2 : 1834 (17) , 800 (1)  
3 : 1777 (25) , 616 (1)  
4 : 1533 (25) , 642 (2)  
5 : 1486 (32) , 855 (8)  
6 : 950 (21) , 401 (12) - the ratio of reviews to readers is a lot more comparable on the two sites now...  
-----------------------------  
Total: 12242 (140) , 5265 (28)_

_On ffdotnet, this story is on 40 C2s, on 48 favourites lists, and has 129 story alerts (which for me is the best indicator of story popularity). _

_In comparison, my other vaguely-half-decent fic, the Perfect Azkaban Breakout, has 8793 hits and 22 story alerts on ffdotnet and 4700 hits on Portkey (where it was uploaded all 12 chapters at once).  
_


	8. Harry learns a new Quidditch move

Severus Snape sat in his armchair. One of his Slytherins had nearly died, and he was furious. It was lucky Vanescu was around, for she had been familiar with the poison used. She had given him the recipe for it, the recipe that was now lying in one of his desk drawers, and for its antidote. The poison was, she said, fairly common amongst vampires, and even required the hair of one.

Of course, this also meant that Crina Vanescu was the most likely candidate to have made the potion in the first place. But Lily Evans, as he knew she was, would never do that.

He had worked out her identity in the middle of November while they were arguing about some Potions questions. Her way of thinking reminded him of an old classmate and Potions rival - the only Mudblood witch he had ever respected. And then he looked at her face, and realized that if you added some fat and muscle and turned her white hair red and her grey irises green ...

When he had confronted her about her identity, she had laughed and expressed surprise at how long it had taken him to find out. Then she had demanded that he treat her son better, in exchange for her not considering him as a blood donor. He had complied ever since.

No, Lily Evans would never poison a student, particularly one that displayed Gryffindorish tendencies by joining the Neutral table.

The Headmaster had agreed with this assessment and begun a search of every student's wands to determine who had cast a switching spell recently. Switching was the only way to sabotage a goblet that Bulstrode would have routinely checked for poisons before she first drank from it.

Severus thought that was rather ridiculous - no student would ever use their own wand to cast such a spell. But Vanescu - Evans - had pointed out that that was precisely the point, since the poisoner would have Imperiused another student to do it. If they could find out who that student was, then they could hope to determine who the Imperiuser was. Not that Snape could see how, but it was a start.

Needless to say, they were also checking wands for signs of Imperius, though they certainly did not expect to find _that_.

* * *

The first Quidditch match of December had Beauxbatons playing Durmstrang. Naturally, the focus of the match was on how Hogwarts' best Seeker since Charlie Weasley could defeat Viktor Krum. 

The action off the pitch was fairly evenly balanced, and most eyes drifted to the Seekers. They attempted Wronski Feints on each other, a few of which worked. Harry helped distract the Durmstrang Keeper to help his team score. Krum blocked passing moves of between the opposing Chasers. And so on.

The score was 140 to 110 in favour of the French team when Krum dived again. Harry wasn't sure if it was a Feint or not, and dived. Then he realized it wasn't, and pulled up ... straight into a Bludger.

* * *

He woke up with a splitting headache, and a vial of pain relieving potion was immediately placed to his lips. He drank greedily before putting on his glasses. 

Hermione was there, along with Blaise and Jean Demaitre, his Quidditch captain. In the background he could see the rest of the Beauxbatons team, one of the Durmstrang Beaters, and an embarassed looking Viktor.

"Fuck," he swore. "Sorry," he said at once, when Hermione conjured a bar of soap in her hands and looked at him speculatively.

"I hope you don't kiss any more Bludgers with that mouth of yours," said Blaise.

"How much?" asked Harry about the game.

"Durmstrang won, 280 to 140," answered Blaise. "A few more goals were scored before Krum caught the Snitch. Petitou, the guy who replaced you as Seeker, didn't have a chance." One of the Beauxbatons teammates shrugged and looked sheepish. Not that Harry ever thought of blaming him.

Krum and the Durmstrang Beater approached. "Hello, Harry," said Krum. "You played very well. This is Ilya Voynich. He put you here."

"I apologize, Mr Potter," said Ilya.

Harry smiled. "It's part of the game, Mr Voynich. Good work. How did you know I was going to pull up?"

"We expected you to pull up," replied Krum. "That was intentionally not my best Feint. The only question was when you would pull up. That was the second time we tried to get you that way, and we still sent two Bludgers at you. The second one got you."

Harry scowled. "You didn't teach me that move!"

Krum raised an eyebrow. "Surely you would not expect me to."

Harry chuckled. "Of course not. Thank you for teaching it to me now."

Krum nodded, and the two Durmstrang players headed for their boat after inviting those present for a party.

Most of the Beauxbatons students followed them. Fleur was not one of them. All the Hogwarts students stayed.

* * *

Harry was still in the Hospital Wing two hours later when Paul turned up. Hermione was the only other person in the Hospital Wing other than Harry and a sleeping Millicent Bulstrode. The Muggleborn witch was sitting in an armchair next to Harry's bed. When she saw Paul standing nervously in the doorway, she stood up and loudly announced that she had been sitting too long and was going to take a walk. Harry nodded gratefully, and she left the Hospital Wing, making sure to give her boyfriend's twin a good glare on the way out. 

"Sit down, Paul," said Harry, doing his best to smile and to avoid reaching for his wand. "If you want to, of course."

Paul approached warily, and sat down.

"I won't bother apologizing," said Paul. "But I have been doing a lot of thinking of late. It's been a week or two, after all. I still don't entirely believe you, but I would like to meet ... mother." He paused, as if realizing he had said too much. "The person you think is mother."

"Oh good," said Harry, after some shock. It was amazing what a few cracked ribs could do for one's position in an argument. "I can tell you where she is right now."

"She's nearby?" asked Paul, surprised.

"She's Professor Vanescu," said Harry. He tried very hard to avoid laughing his head off at the look on Paul's face.

"What?" squeaked his brother.

Harry explained, prefacing his explanation by saying that Dumbledore believed that Vanescu was their mother.

"But ... what about dad? I mean, how could he?"

Harry's face darkened. "I don't know about James. Nor do I particularly care."

"Oh," said Paul, realizing something. "You don't really think of him as your dad, do you?"

Harry gave him a look that said that that was a stupid question.

"Well, I guess I should go see her then," said Paul, standing up unsteadily.

Harry was surprised. He had expected his brother to throw a huge tantrum like Harry had, and said as much.

"Well," replied Paul as he approached the door out of the Hospital Wing. "That's the thing, see? Dad loves me, and made sure I knew it. I never needed mum, not the way you did."

Harry gaped. When had his brother grown up?

"Paul!" he shouted just as his twin was about to close the door behind him. Paul stopped. "When I was ten, how many bones did you break in my arm?"

Paul winced, for more than one reason. "You fractured your foot, Harry." He moved to leave, and then added, "after I pushed you down the stairs."

Harry gaped again. That really was his brother. Perhaps, in some dimension far, far, far away, hell was freezing over. But then a sense of relief flooded him - he could now shout on the rooftops that his mother was back, and no force in the universe would be able to stop him from doing so.

He would send the Durmstrang Beater - what was his name again? - several bars of the finest Honeydukes products as soon as he was released from Prison de Pomfrey.

* * *

Three days later, Albus Dumbledore could be found pacing in his office. The culprit had been found. It was Ginny Weasley, much to everyone's surprise. Of course, she had been Imperiused. Albus had thought she would have been strong enough to resist. In any case, no student's wand had been found to have cast the Imperius curse, though there were several other spells of adequately dubious merit to have resulted in Filch having the time of his life supervising several detentions. 

Which brought him to the next problem. Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived. Should he tell his brother? His mother? He had never told her the full prophecy, and she thought, like everyone else, that Paul was the one who had reflected the killing curse.

If Voldemort did not know who the Boy Who Lived really was, Albus would keep his mouth shut, since Paul would be the perfect decoy. Unfortunately, Voldemort did know, which meant that that option was out.

But if Harry learnt he was the Boy Who Lived, would he become as arrogant as his brother had been? Harry was already building up a sizeable pool of allies and admirers, from three schools no less. Rather like Tom Riddle, in more ways than one. But Tom had never loved anyone, and certainly would not have loved a Muggleborn witch.

Then he smacked his forehead with his hand. He would talk to Harry's parent. The one that Harry listened to.

He stood up and tossed some Floo powder into the fireplace to summon Crina Vanescu. She was in the middle of marking some third year essays, but agreed to come to his office at once. She did so in five minutes.

"Blood pop?" offered Albus. He chuckled as Crina's eyes brightened, and reached for the drawer where he kept snacks for his more - alternative - visitors. He tossed a blood pop to her, which she began working on at once.

"I have recently discovered some important information," he said, before getting severely distracted by the blissful sounds his DADA teacher was making as she sucked off the sweet. "For Merlin's sake, Lily, isn't that a little extreme?"

"Mmmm?" questioned the vampire. She shook her head. "Merlin yourself, Albus. Wherever did you pick this kind up?"

"Kind?" asked the Headmaster. "There are different kinds of blood pops? And there's a difference between them?"

"Of course there are," she replied, looking at him like he was stupid. She conjured a little box to place the bloody temptation and placed it in her robes. "There. I'll keep that for later. I banished the wrapping by mistake. Could I have another one? Just to look at the wrapper, of course..."

He handed her a second lollipop, wondering briefly if she had banished the wrapper on purpose so that she could get a second blood pop.

"Ah," she said as she examined the wrapped snack. "I should have known." She shook it at him. "Behold! The thirteenth use of Dragon's Blood! The most potent snack for any vampire!"

"Lily," he said, genuinely concerned. "Are you alright? You seem awfully ... hyper."

"I am?" she asked as she stopped bouncing in her armchair. "Oh dear." She conjured up a glass of water and drank it hurriedly. "There," she said, sounding decidedly less enthusiastic about the universe. "That always happens when a vampire drinks dragon's blood."

"This is fascinating," said the Headmaster. "I had no idea the effect would be so marked. If I may ask, what is normally contained in Blood Pops?"

"It depends on the price and brand," she answered seriously. "The stuff they sell at Honeydukes usually contains chicken or cattle or sheep blood. With the occasional cat, though I wouldn't tell Minerva that."

"What's the difference?"

"With all due respect, Albus, that would be like describing colours to a blind man. Let's just say that us vampires get a special kick out of the blood of powerful magical creatures like wizards or dragons." She looked at the wrapped blood pop again, as if wondering whether it _really_ needed to be returned.

"Truly fascinating," he repeated. "And yes, you may keep that. I was given a collection of these by an old acquaintance of mine in Prague; I had no idea how special they were. She, of course, must have been giggling her socks off at the thought of presenting me with the thirteenth use of dragon's blood."

Crina nodded in gratitude and slipped the dragon blood pop into her robes like a precious gem. She made a resolution to start visiting the Headmaster's office more often.

His demeanour turned business-like. "I need your advice, Lily. As a parent."

"Certainly, Albus." She smiled after a pause. "Speaking of which, I now have two sons again."

"Really?" the Headmaster asked, his eyes widening. "Paul came around?"

"Yes," she replied. "We talked yesterday. He seemed far more accepting of it than Harry was initially, but Harry and Hermione have yet to give me the full story on this. I will let you know if there is any relevant information there for you. Now, you were saying?"

Very slowly, and despite several interruptions, he explained his belief that Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived. He also told Crina the prophecy.

When Albus Dumbledore got out from under the table ten minutes after he had finished his explanation, Crina was already putting out several pockets of flame around his office with several applications of 'Aguamenti'. But her magic was still not under control, and those students who happened to be passing by the entrance to his office two floors below wondered when the gargoyle guarding it had become a water fountain.

* * *

Hermione Granger stared at the parchment below her. She had exchanged a couple of letters with James Potter before the revelation that he had kept Crina away from her sons. His questions had been mostly innocuous, though there was a definite Quidditch bias. Harry had refused to answer any questions or look over her answers, but had asked Blaise to help her instead. 

Some of the questions in his last - yet unanswered - letter left her steaming. Honestly! How could he ask her 'Why does Harry hate Paul so much?' Was he delusional, cynical, playing her for a fool, or merely a stupid Gryffindor?

Stupid Gryffindor, she decided. Speaking of which, she made a note to to turn the Sorting Hat into several baby nappies and send them out to the next part of the world that experienced a cholera outbreak.

A young wizard walked to the table where she was sitting and sat next to her. She pushed his father's letter in front of him. He looked at it, and then at her, asking wordlessly whether she actually expected him to read the damn thing. She huffed, and pointed to the date. He looked again.

"You've not written to him for a month?" asked Harry.

"I was waiting to stop feeling like I wanted to send him a cursed letter."

He laughed and looked at her with a smile, thinking it was a joke. But she wasn't smiling.

"Morgana! You're not joking, are you?"

"I even made a list of curses."

"Can I see it?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you'll really think I'm becoming Morgana le Fay."

"Your point being? Never mind. Knut for your thoughts and all that."

"One knut?"

"Two quid."

"Sterling?"

"Dunno any other quids."

"I suppose we're getting off the point here, aren't we," she sighed, putting an end to the banter.

"Write what you want to James," said Harry coldly, and stood up to leave. Hermione immediately grabbed his hand and pulled it down so he had to sit again.

"That's the point," she replied. "I don't want to."

"Well? Why write, then?"

"Because," she said frustatedly, "because I said I would!"

"Ah," said Harry. He had become used, over the years, to his best friend's peculiar (in his opinion) notions of morality. He had even admitted to himself that if it hadn't been for the fact that he had no other real friends, he would have dumped her friendship for it when he was eleven. In retrospect, of course, he was extremely glad he had grown up enough to try and understand her views instead of rejecting them. But it was still difficult, especially since he didn't have the female gene (that Hermione insisted existed) that allowed women to read their mates' minds.

"Ah?" asked Hermione, after he had said nothing after a long pause.

"You didn't swear any magical oaths or anything of the sort, did you?" he asked when that horrifying thought suddenly occurred to him. She looked shocked as well, for a moment, and then glared at him at the impudence for even considering such an idea. "Okay, okay, good, good. Just got a little worried there. Here, give me that." He reached for the letter she was writing. So far she had written 'To James Potter'.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Writing my stupid ancestor a letter," replied Harry. "You're writing for me because I'm not writing myself, right? Right." He began to scribble in the ungainly chicken scratch that passed as his handwriting. "Besides, it's a short letter, My Only. Come back in two minutes, will you?"

Hermione stood, more out of reflex than any conscious thought, and went for a short walk to the magazines section to see if the December issue of 'Popular Charms for Amateurs' had arrived. It had not. When she returned to Harry's table, he handed a letter to her.

_To James Potter, _

_We have discovered that you kept mum away from us. Hermione and I are not amused. Expect no further communication from us. _

_Paul also knows and made peace with mum. _

_Harry _

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Harry!" she cried. "You didn't write your last name on it! It's a letter to the head of the Potter family! You're practically asking him to disown you!"

"And the problem with that is?" asked Harry with a frown. "You don't want the Potter fortune, do you?"

"Eh?" asked Hermione. "What's that got to do - oh you idiot, Harry! I don't care about that! I'm not - what's that wretched slag's name - I'm not Ginny Weasley! Look, you and your mother are coming to my place for Christmas, and I'll show you exactly how much I don't need to care about that!"

Harry was quickly becoming aware of the error he had made, and rapidly working out backpedalling strategies.

"I love you, Hermione," he said. "You look so beautiful when you're angry."

"Oh," she said, ceasing in the middle of developing a good rant. Then she realized what he was up to. "I love you too, Egret. But you're not going to distract me that easily."

"Do you approve of the letter?" he asked quickly.

"Yeah, yeah," she said distractedly, and dragged him out of the library. "Once you add your name at the bottom of it. We'll send that to the Owlery now. And then you and I are going to have a little talk."

Harry gulped and added 'Potter' to the bottom of the letter while his girlfriend packed her bags.

* * *

"Why do they have to have a Yule Ball on Christmas Day?" muttered Hermione as she enlarged the two dress robes she wanted to choose from. She was in Padma's fourth year Ravenclaw dormitory with Padma. "I've always spent Christmas with my parents!" 

"But you're going home immediately after Christmas, aren't you?" asked Padma.

"Yes, but after Christmas is no fun at all! The days approaching Christmas are very important in the Muggle world. All the shops are alight, all the Christmas trees are up, there are people going ice skating, all the..." She continued for a while, describing everything she could think of, every memory she had spent with her parents.

"You could skip the Ball," suggested Padma.

"Are you kidding?" asked Hermione. "I've never been to a dance before and now I'm ... actually, Harry asked me that. I refused."

"But the Ball is in the evening," pointed out Padma. "Why can't you go to your parents' house in the morning and take a Portkey here in the evening?"

"But where would I get a Portkey from?" asked Hermione.

"Living with Gryffies has dulled your senses, hasn't it? Just get Harry's mum or your head of house to ask the Headmaster for you! Professor Vanescu is coming with Harry to your parents' place after Yule, right? Maybe they can come earlier so they'll have to use the Portkey too!"

"Oh," said Hermione, red-faced.

"And I'd choose the light blue robes," added Padma.

* * *

Fleur Delacour watched the Neutral Table from where she was currently sitting. She had received a message from Madama Maxime regarding the organization of the Triwizard Tournament, and had been asked to gather the other champions for a meeting in ten minutes. She was a little surprised at the late notice, but perhaps it had to do with the fact that the three boys were in the Great Hall with her. 

She walked first to Krum, and informed him in German of her Headmistress' request. The Seeker - Fleur suddenly realized she was the only non-Seeker in the Tournament - had looked surprised as well, but nodded at once. He stood, and offered to collect Diggory from the Hufflepuff table.

Fleur thanked him and went to fetch Harry. Hermione had already noticed Fleur's approach and prodded Harry on the shoulder as the French girl approached. Harry stood, and Fleur marvelled again at the fact that he was immune to her Veelan charms.

Fleur had once told Hermione that human males were immune to the Veela Enchantments if they considered themselves mated. Hermione had smiled widely at this, though she had then immediately gone on to point out that wizards with strong magical reserves were also immune. Fleur had laughed inwardly at that, impressed at both the fifteen year old's breadth of knowledge and amused at how she brushed off Fleur's compliment. There was no way that a fourteen year old boy could have strong magical reserves, even if he was the Boy Who Lived.

But that was six weeks ago.

The first crack in Fleur's belief came with the First Task. The kid was an Animagus! The second crack came a few days ago, when one of Harry's clique - the ethnically Indian girl - had asked Hermione in public if she could borrow her boyfriend for a project she was doing on Parselmouths. Suddenly Fleur, who had grown up in a family where politics was the most common dinner table conversation topic, understood why she had been hearing tales of several non-Dark Parselmouths. She had even asked Cedric Diggory about it. The handsome seventh year had assured her they were true, but had seemed to know more than he let on.

Diggory had known Harry was a Parselmouth! And he wasn't offended by it. In fact, all of Harry's friends seemed to think it was nothing unusual when the story came out, and Fleur suspected the conversation she had seen was staged. There had been a flood of rumours, and the accusations of Dark Magic controlling Harry, but fewer people took them as seriously as they might have done.

But this was irrelevant for now.

For now, she had a message to give to Harry.

"Bonjour, Harry et Hermione!" said Fleur brightly, "Ca va?"

"Comme ci, comme ca," replied Hermione as Harry muttered an embarassed and perfectly mangled version of 'bonjour'.

"Ow," winced Fleur. "I had not realized the true meaning of verbal butchery till now." She laughed at the mortified look on Harry's face. "Not to worry, Harry. You must not let my teasing stop you learning some French. But for now, we must go to see Madame Maxime. She has a message for us."

Harry nodded, bent down to kiss Hermione's hair, and joined Fleur in walking to the Head Table.

"Excellent," said the large witch, who was talking with Dumbledore and the two other champions already. Karkaroff was, as always, sick. Fleur wondered why he had been sick so often in the past month, but brushed that worry aside. "Albus," said Maxime, "would you explain?"

"Certainly," replied the distinguished old wizard. "You will recall that you were given a scroll at the end of the First Task. Have you spent much time trying to decipher it yet?"

Fleur nodded. Cedric did so as well, though more uncertainly. Krum scowled, being reminded of the fact that he had needed a replacement scroll after the First Task, but said nothing else. Harry looked embarassed. Fleur was surprised his girlfriend had not prodded him to look at it yet.

"In that case," continued Dumbledore, "I apologize, in particular to Miss Delacour and Mister Diggory, because those scrolls are now irrelevant." He paused to let the gasps die down. "The three tasks in the tournament were decided several months ago, long before the champions were chosen. We had not envisaged that one of the champions would be a Parselmouth." He looked at Harry, who looked back blankly. "The second task revolved around an encounter with several serpents, and Mister Potter's gift would make that obstacle a complete triviality. Therefore, we have cancelled the old Second Task, and will replace it with a new one."

Whatever Fleur had expected, it was not this.

Harry immediately began to apologize, but Fleur tuned him out. She could see Diggory immediately calming him down with a hand on his shoulder, and Krum looking bemused.

"Do we get new scrolls?" she heard herself asking, a little more harshly than she felt she felt.

"Not yet," replied Madame Maxime. "The new second task is not yet finalized."

'Not yet started, I bet', thought Fleur, though she knew she was being unfairly cynical. The organizers would need more time than a week to put a new task together.

"If no one has any questions," said Dumbledore, "you may return to your tables. And my apologies, once again."

* * *

"My Lord," said Citrina, "the attack on the Bulstrode girl was thwarted by the treachery of Snape." 

"His time will come in a few months," hissed Voldemort. "Did the message to the Slytherins get through?"

"Yes, my Lord. Only Zabini is openly allied with Potter now."

"Excellent. How go your preparations with the Impali vampires?"

"They are enthusiastic to help, My Lord, and want a target to prove to you that they are on your glorious side."

"Again, that is most promising. Perhaps they can be used to dispose of the Mudblood anomaly that is Lily Evans. What of the Granger whore?"

"They show no signs of breaking apart. However, I have learnt that the pair of them will be going to her Muggle parents' house from ten in the morning on December twenty-three to noon on December twenty-five."

"Good," said Voldemort, and began to describe his plans.

* * *

_A/N: I had forgotten about the letters Hermione had promised James until Stygius.Magic reminded me of them. Thanks! _

_Thanks for all your reviews! We've passed 15500 hits on ffdotnet and 6500 on Portkey. _


	9. Preparing to Visit the Grangers

_Dear Mum and Dad, _

_It's been two weeks since I wrote last. Therefore, this letter shall be long. _

_I have good news! I can come home before Christmas! Is this alright with you both? I have a ticket - called a Portkey - that will allow me to turn up at 1000h on 23 December and leave at 1200h on Christmas Day. Then I'll go back to school for the dance - and you were right mum, the blue robes are best - and come back home on the 26th as planned before. _

_Question 1 : can I bring Harry along on the 23rd? He's coming after Christmas, but can he come before as well? _

_Question 2 : can I bring Harry's mum along? She's - well, it's a long story. Let me explain. _

_Harry's mother is a Muggleborn witch and bibliophile like me. Her name is Crina Vanescu (yes she's my defence teacher) but she was born Lily Evans. Her father was an accountant and her mother taught physics at secondary school. (They're both long dead.) Eight years ago she was bitten by a vampire and Harry thought she was dead too. But she wasn't. She had become a vampire and lost her memories for some years as a result (I don't know why. Just one of those things.) But Harry didn't know that, until a few weeks ago. _

_Harry is very happy that she's back, and so am I. You'd love to meet her - she has the same appalling taste in music, listening to ABBA and the BeeGees as you two cultural philistines. She's even agreed to let you both examine her teeth - but if you dare talk too much about her instead of to her when you're in front of her, I shall be most miffed. Don't worry, she's very safe. She won't drink your blood. But you might want to keep some packets of cow or chicken blood in the freezer. Thawing doesn't affect the taste and nutritional qualities, she says. _

_If you really want to make her day, you could get some human blood. Could you get the blood banks to sell any? Maybe Dr Brooks can sell some, since he has his own surgery. She'd be chuffed if you could get that, though she'd never dare ask. The blood type doesn't matter. _

_Oh, and I'm trying not to use the word 'blood sucker' derogatorily. Make sure you try to do likewise, will you? _

_Lots of other stuff has been happening. Harry's moronic brother (Paul) has displayed some signs of growing up. But these are preliminary observations, and we are still suspicious of his motives. He played our friend Cho in Quidditch. Gryffindor (his team) beat Ravenclaw (Cho's team) 300 to 200, although Cho caught the Snitch. What that means is that Cho did very well and Harry's brother did badly, and the rest of the Gryffindor team made up for his deficiencies. _

_Harry's father remains an ass. I always knew he was an ass, but I've now realized he's a dumb ass. And no, I am not swearing. I'll explain when I get there. James Potter makes me really appreciate the two of you. _

_Harry's really looking forward to meeting you, on the 23rd or the 26th. So is his mother, if you want to meet her. _

_I've been working on my Animagus transformation on my own. I've been following the books Harry did. It'll be very cool, because I know I'm a cat. (I can't wait to see the look on Crookshanks' face when I eventually transform!) But I've been stuck on the next stage for the past few months, and don't know what to do! And there's been so much happening, there's hardly any time for it. _

_I have a question for you two - purely hypothetical - if I can't imagine living the rest of my life without a certain someone, does that mean I'm ready to marry him? _

_Love from your favourite daughter (not that you have any choice) _

_Hermione _

* * *

Ginny Weasley was worried. Or, more accurately, shocked. She had almost killed another student, even if it was a Slytherin, because she had been under the Imperius! Her head of house had calmed her down, however, and allowed her to weep on her shoulders. She couldn't tell anyone. Paul wouldn't understand, and would probably blame her. Neither would her mother or Ron...

The twins. She could tell the twins.

She wiped her eyes and stood up. She was a Weasley, and a female Weasley. She would be strong.

She walked into the sixth year boys' dorms. Her brothers were not there, but a friend of theirs said they had gone to the lake. She nodded, and headed out.

* * *

Crina looked at the students having supper around the Great Hall. Her gaze fell briefly on Paul, who ignored it. She sighed. Their meeting had gone better than she had expected, but worse than she had hoped. Paul had acknowledged her existence, listened to her story, given her a stiff hug, told her formally that he was glad to have her back, and given her permission to write to him.

She had been overjoyed for a couple of days, before the realization that Paul wasn't coming back to her in the way Harry had.

Well. She'd still hope. That's what mothers did. And for now, she'd try to be satisfied.

Her eyes turned to Harry's. It had taken her a few days to decide whether or not to relay Dumbledore's words to him. Though the primary sticking point for her was how to tell him, not whether to do so.

_Come on Lily Evans! Be a Gryffindor! You once made Sirius Black actually wet his trousers, so why can't you do this?_

'Yeah, right,' she replied in her head to the annoying little voice that had spoken in it, 'but that was Sirius. This is someone I care about. And I'm not a stupid Gryffindor.'

_Being Gryffindor doesn't make you stupid any more than being Slytherin makes you evil. What if Harry suffers because you don't tell him?_

Crina sighed and took out the charmed notebook that Hermione gave her. It allowed her to pass messages to her two favourite students, though she couldn't see the messages they wrote to each other.

Thank goodness. There were certain things she didn't want to know.

_To Harry and Hermione: _

_Dumbledore has discovered something. It explains Harry's head wound, Parseltongue, and why Voldemort used Harry's blood. Meet me at lunch in my office today. _

_Lily Evanescu _

_PS: This changes everything. _

* * *

_Dear Hermione, _

_Thank you very much for your letter. We had planned to visit your Aunt Brunhilda for Christmas when we said you were not coming, but now that you are coming, we have cancelled that plan. The official story is that you're coming home with a contagious flu, so remember that if your aunt asks. _

_We would be delighted to meet your boyfriend (at last!) and his mother on the 23rd. _

_Obtaining human blood will be relatively easy - we'll explain how when you get here. Don't worry, it's not ours. Animal blood will be harder. Our neighbours are starting to have a rat problem though, so if Crookshanks is willing to share... Christ, we have no idea what vampire Do's and Dont's are. We've ordered a book on vampires called 'Fanged Culture' by Boris Turkonov from the Flourish and Botts catalogue. Is it any good? If not, give us another title, and we'll try to read it before you lot get here. _

_Looking forward to seeing you (and Harry and Crina) very much. And your mother threatens to get started on dressing you up for the Ball before you leave, so be prepared. _

_Regarding your question about a long-term companion, we do have an opinion that you would probably like, but would like to meet Harry first. Hypothetical question, my foot. _

_Why don't you ask that Professor McGonagall of yours if she can help you with your Animagus transformation? Didn't you say she was a cat as well? _

_Dad (with Mum over his broad and enviable shoulder) _

_PS : Bring earmuffs for you and Harry. Us oldies intend to have Chiquitta playing on repeat. _

* * *

"Thank you for coming," said Crina. She was with Harry and Hermione in the DADA classroom at lunchtime. "Here are two calming potions. Drink them now."

Surprised at her stern demeanour outside of class, the teens stared at her. Hermione looked back at the vial, verifying that it looked and smelled like a calming potion, and drank it. Harry followed her example.

"Good," replied Crina. "Three days ago, the Headmaster told me about a prophecy concerning the Boy Who Lived. Here it is, written down." She gave them a piece of parchment each and waited for them to read it. When their faces had sufficiently paled, she waved her wand and the papers burst into flame. They both yelped as they dropped their notes.

"Sorry," said Crina absently. "I should take a calming draught as well." She drank from one of three goblets lying on her desk, and resisted the temptation to tell them that Flobberworm blood was the only known substance to act as a calming potion for vampires.

"We're doomed, aren't we?" said Hermione slowly. "There's no way Paul can do this."

Crina smiled a bit. That was the perfect segue. "There's a second thing the Headmaster said. His reasons are convincing and I believe him. Paul is not the Boy Who Lived."

"WHAT?" shouted Harry. His girlfriend had her mouth open.

"That's the good news," continued Crina, nibbling her lip. "The bad news is that the Boy Who Lived is you, Harry."

Harry's face turned ashen. Surprisingly, he didn't even look for the nearest window. Instead he sank to his knees. Crina turned to look at Hermione, who was staring blankly with her mouth still open. Crina gave her a sharp glare. This seemed to remind her to look at her boyfriend, and she dashed to him as soon she saw how he was reacting. Crina joined them in a three-way hug.

Ten minutes later, the three of them sat on a (not legless) couch that Hermione Transfigured from one of the desks. Harry was in the middle, the two women in his life on either side.

"This is what we think happened thirteen years ago," said Crina. "James and I were in hiding with the two of you under the Fidelius. My mother - your grandmother, Harry - she was called Rosemary Evans - was also hiding with us. She was a great babysitter. It was rather amusing, really, the way she'd argue with James about how much magic could be used safely on babies. Especially after the time he tried to change your nappies with a spell and it - the old nappy - ended up on her head."

The kids laughed, and Crina smiled sadly. "Peter Pettigrew was our Secret Keeper. He sold us out. He was a Death Eater."

"What?" spluttered Harry. "He was on their side? I thought he was tortured to give us up?"

"Maybe he was," sighed Crina. "But he didn't need to be tortured to give us up. He'd been a Death Eater for a year already. We didn't want to hurt his other friend and family, so we told no-one afterwards that he had the Mark. Better that they remember Peter Pettigrew the nice unsure schoolboy rather than Peter Pettigrew the traitorous Death Eater rat."

Hermione winced at the venom in her teacher's voice at the last few words.

"I had cast a Charm on the two of you - you and Paul, Harry - and set it up so that if James or I or my mother died close to you while protecting you, you'd be able to reflect the killing curse. It wouldn't help with any other way of killing you, but the Dark Bastard didn't know that."

She took a deep breath and continued. "James and I were working in the garden when Peter visited. James went to greet him, and Peter stunned him. James wasn't expecting that. I rushed in, but Voldemort stunned me - as if I was a fly to be brushed off - before going upstairs. He meant to kill us as soon as he finished the two of you off, I suppose. He didn't know how to leave survivors. I had managed to yell to mum though, and she knew what was coming."

"Now we come to speculation. Voldemort killed Harry's gran when she tried to stop him. Harry and Paul were probably still sleeping, Harry on his stomach. You usually slept on your stomach," she said to her son fondly, "perhaps you thought, even an infant, that sleeping on your back would mess your hair up." She laughed as Harry's hands went to his incorrigible mop. "Voldemort cast Avada at you. Mum's protection sent it back, hitting him, and marking you at the back of your head. Meanwhile, Peter, who must have been pissing in his little rat arse, tried to kill Paul in panic. That curse also backfired, so Paul is also a Boy Who Lived."

There was a long silence. Hermione looked hesitantly at Harry, who waved at her, giving her permission to ask questions. He didn't feel like talking.

"How do you know?" asked the girl. "How does the Headmaster know?"

"Remember the prophecy?" asked Crina. "It basically said that the child hit by Voldemort's curse would be marked as his equal. That could easily mean that the child would gain some of Voldemort's powers. In Britain, most Parselmouths have been Slytherins. There are no Parselmouths in Harry's biological bloodline. Second, and I think this is the most compelling evidence, do you remember when Harry's scar hurt at the same time that Severus' - Professor Snape's - Dark Mark hurt? That's what you told the Headmaster, Hermione, and the final clue he needed. He checked the scar in the back of Harry's skull in the Hospital Wing, and says it's the same kind as Paul has."

"But Paul doesn't get any nightmares!" cried Harry. "Or the headaches I've been getting this year! How can they be the same?"

"There are other curse scars," replied his mother. "Though with other curses. Some of the darker ones leave a connection between caster and castee. In Paul's case, the caster is dead. In your case, he is not."

"And he's out to get me," added Harry.

"Yes, there is that," said Crina.

"Mum!"

"What? What am I supposed to say, Harry? I hate that my sons are involved in this! I hate that one of you has got a telephone link with the most foul wizard this century! I hate that I couldn't be there for you when you needed me! But that doesn't change a thing, does it?"

"Shouldn't you be, I don't know, more motherly?" he whined, ignoring the fact that his mother had an arm around his shoulder for the past twenty minutes.

"Perhaps I should go now," said Hermione quietly, heading to the door. She didn't want to get in the way of a quiet mother-son moment.

"No!" shouted Harry.

"I second my son's request, Hermione," said Crina. "Unless you want to break up with him over this - and the shocked look on your face says that that never occurred to you - then you are very involved with it. So, please stay."

Hermione complied, and moved back to Harry's other side to one-arm hug him.

"Alright Professor," said Hermione. "But I think Harry has a point. You're being rather - abrupt."

"I'm a vampire," said Crina simply. "We're more used to death. We can even come back to life, given the right ingredients. Yes, I'll tell you later about that Hermione - quit giving me those patented Granger puppy dog eyes! I don't want my son picking up _that_ habit!"

"Too late," muttered Hermione with a small smile. "Well then. What does this all mean? Do we tell anyone? What of Paul?"

"Don't tell anyone," said Harry in a small voice. "I'm not ready yet."

"Alright," said Crina, more cheerfully than she felt. She pulled Harry closer to her and wished her body felt warmer to him. "I was in the middle of a rant, wasn't I? Ah yes. I hate the suffering you're going to have to suffer, Harry. But if I had to choose which of my two sons had to suffer to save the world, I would choose you, Harry."

And that was the truth that no one but a parent could tell Harry Potter.

He stiffened.

He nodded.

He understood.

"What does this mean?" asked Hermione. "If the Headmaster shot a killing curse at Voldemort, or chops his head off, would Voldemort not die?"

"He didn't the last time," said Crina. "Dumbledore hit Voldemort twice with the killing curse before Harry was marked. Once in 1978 and the second time in 1980. Neither worked, because Voldemort is a tad more powerful than Dumbledore and can sufficiently control his magic to be immune to it. You have to be more or as powerful as someone for the killing curse to work. That can be overridden with sufficient intent on the past of the caster of course, but even that can be in turn overridden by sufficient intent - the intention being to not die - by the castee."

"There's no way I can be as powerful as Voldemort," said Harry. "He's done all these rituals and stuff to increase his power, hasn't he? At least that's what they say in the Slytherin common room these days."

"That's a good point, Harry. But those rituals can only double his magic, at most. Which is still a huge amount, of course! But even if you 'only' have as much power as Voldemort did before he did all those things, you could still be of use. If you stood with the Headmaster and cast an Avada simultaneously with him at Voldemort, that could well work."

"But the prophecy said one would have die at the hands of the other," said Hermione slowly.

"It didn't say other hands couldn't be involved, could it?" asked Lily.

"Yes, but is that what you really think?" asked Harry.

Lily sighed. "I think I don't know what I think. All I know is that there's a war coming soon, and we need all the help we can get. It is your choice to fight in the war or not, Harry dear. But Voldemort will come after you, whatever your choice is. A bunch of us are willing to teach you stuff that can help if you choose to fight."

"And if I chose to hide?" asked Harry. "Would you help me hide?"

Crina paused. "I would," she said, "but others would not."

"Professor Dumbledore?" asked Hermione.

Crina nodded.

"So I'm a weapon?" asked Harry.

"Yes, Harry, you are a weapon," replied Crina. "But you are also a fourteen year old male wizard with an attractive and intelligent girlfriend, many friends who enjoy your company, and a mother who loves you. And you have a choice."

"You want me to fight, don't you though?" he pressed.

"Yes," she admitted. "I do. The moral sense of a vampire is different. We are used to fighting. It seems normal to us. But we do also love, and mama vamps are very protective of their hellspawn."

"Hellspawn?" he asked to deflect the rest of the information hurled at him.

"James used to call you that when you were a tot," replied Lily. "Before - you know. He called Paul the Little Demon."

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad, _

_Thanks for agreeing to have Harry and his mum along. They're very grateful, and so am I. Can we bring one more guest? It's a friend of Harry's mum. His name is Remus Lupin. He is a werewolf, but you'd only notice that on a full moon. Otherwise he's very kind and likes Shakespeare... that sounds silly, doesn't it? He has no dietary requirements other than liking his steak (if you plan to make steak) rare. And that's just a preference. _

_I don't think Professor McGonagall would be happy about my training to be an Animagus. She wasn't too pleased about Harry becoming one. She thinks we're too young to do it. _

_Love, _

_Hermione _

_PS: Crina says the book you ordered is good enough. She's impressed that you read any book at all and says she'll be happy to answer any questions. I suggest you keep the number of questions you have within the double digit range. _

_Another PS : Don't ask about Remus' teeth - they are quite normal most of the month. _

* * *

_Dear Hermione, _

_Feel free to bring Mr Lupin along. _

_Love, _

_Dad _

_PS: your mum wants to know if we can take photos of vampires. Can we use flashes? The book doesn't say. _

_PS: Does Mr Lupin like ABBA? _

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad, _

_Crina says Remus has been known to tolerate ABBA. He's more of a Beatles type, though. Crina doesn't mind the Fab Four either. _

_Also, you can take photographs, but without any flashes. Light isn't fatal, but makes vampires uncomfortable. _

_Love, _

_Hermione _

_PS: Play more than six ABBA songs in my hearing and I'll make sure you get reincarnated as a goldfish in a fishtank full of piranhas. _

* * *

Harry and Hermione arrived in his mother's living quarters an hour before the Portkey was scheduled to take them to Hermione's parents' place.

"Have you got everything?" asked Crina once they had entered.

"Mum! Of course I have got ... oh!" said Harry, looking highly embarassed. "I'll be right back." He dashed off, muttering something about presents.

"I hope you got him a Remembrall for Christmas," remarked Crina. "Hermione, meet Remus Lupin."

Hermione looked at the sandy haired man next to her. She stared a little, and he laughed.

"I'm sorry," she said, embarassed. "I've never met a werewolf before. I guess I expected you to be more ..."

"Lupine?" offered Lupin. "You are allowed to be scared, you know."

"The mutt's right," added Crina. "He can only rip you to pieces once a month. I can do so any day, and you're not scared of me, are you?"

"Go easy on the girl, Lily!" chuckled Remus. "I'm the first werewolf she's met, like she said."

"Actually," said Hermione. "I was wondering about your name. It's very - wolfish."

"Ah!" he said, a moment of surprise giving way to a large grin. "I see my uniflowered bouquet here was telling me the truth about you. That's the second question she asked when she found out I was a werewolf."

"Oh," replied Hermione. "Er - what was the first?"

"Oh, the first question was brilliant," he answered with an air of nostalgia. "O Remus, why didn't you tell me?" He said this in a mock high voice. Crina cuffed his head. "And then she did what she just did. She's always been quite the cuffer."

"You've always been a perfectly willing and deserving cuffee, Lupin," muttered Crina as Hermione giggled.

"Werewolves are given alternative names by the Ministry when they are bitten," answered Remus more seriously. "I was bitten when I was a child, and my parents... well, let's just say that I grew up with the alternative names."

Harry returned. He patted his pockets to indicate that he had shrunk whatever he had gone to fetch.

"Good. He with the colanderous memory is here at last," said Crina. She handed out three rings, one to each of them. "These are emergency Portkeys. McGonagall gave them to me. I've set the activation words to 'Remus is a bad dog'." She ignored the howls of protest emanating from the direction of the werewolf. "They will transport you to the Shrieking Shack. You know where that is, Harry? Hermione? Good. I'd give your parents one each, but they can't activate them since they are Muggles. But if you hold on to them while you activate the Portkey, they will come with you. Got that? Tell them as soon as we arrive."

There were varying phrases of assent.

"Good," said Crina, glancing at her watch. "I'll be back in a jiffy. Got to brush my fangs and all that, if I'm going to see a delegation from the Dental Inquisition."

* * *

_A/N: Remus is far more jovial in this fic than he is in canon because he suffered less - James and Sirius are still alive (even if he's distanced from them), Lily is alive, and he is more in touch with the wolf since he spent a lot of time in Romania (where attitudes towards lycanthropy are more liberal). _

_Enjoy the Grangers while you can. I was hoping to have them attacked in this chapter, but too many jokes got in the way. _

_'colanderous' is a made-up word that means 'like a colander'. A colander is a sieve or pot full of holes used in kitchens. _


	10. Vampire Attacks and Torture of all kinds

_A/N: Warning: This chapter has torture, even if it is not graphically described._

_Thanks to aizi for providing the translation of the words on Oni's t-shirt! _

* * *

At precisely one minute past ten o'clock, four figures landed in the large living room of the Granger household. Two of the figures were standing upright, the third was swaying slightly, while the fourth was firmly kissing the ground. 

"Mighty fine floor you have here, Mr and Mrs Granger," said Remus Lupin. "Do excuse Harry. He's a connossieur of floors and never passes up an opportunity to give a new one a close examination."

Emmanuel and Daniela Granger laughed while Harry excused the temptation to reveal his ever increasing collection of imprecations about Portkey travel and snarky werewolves who overused multisyllabic words. Introductions were made and the ice was further broken.

"So this is the man who brought Oni out of her shell?" said Emmanuel upon shaking Harry's hand.

"Dad!" cried Hermione, highly affronted.

"Oni?" asked Harry.

Daniela Granger coughed. "Hermione had some trouble pronouncing her own name when she was younger."

"Mum!" Hermione turned to Harry. "You didn't hear that."

"Hear what?" he asked, poker-faced.

"You've got a smart one here, Oni," said Hermione's father. "He's already learnt the number one rule about Granger women, which is that they are always right."

Hermione blushed and dragged Harry out to the garden.

"They seem nice," he said, looking out the reasonably sized garden. It had several flowers and a few old trees.

"You don't need to be scared of them," said Hermione shyly. "I'm not scared of your mother, and she's a vampire."

"True," chuckled Harry. "But your mother is a Granger, and that's pretty darn terrifying." He ducked a cuff. "That tree looks good for climbing."

"Oh!" she said, brightening up. "You must meet Jack."

"Jack?" he asked as she dragged him to the tree in question. "Is that your family dog? Wait - this is Jack? This tree?"

Hermione giggled. "Shush, Harry. Let me introduce you." She switched to a formal voice. "Harry, this is Jack, my first friend and lifelong confidant. Jack, this is Harry, my first human friend and the cute boyfriend I've been telling you about."

Harry gave her a sidelong glance. She nudged him in the ribs and whispered to him to say something.

"Oof!" he muttered, ribbing his chest. "Er. Hello - Jack. It's very good to meet you." He paused. Hermione gave him a look. "And thanks for keeping Hermione a good girl all these years. I'm sure you're very proud of her." Hermione seemed to consider this adequate and nodded in approval. He decided to risk the fate of the universe with a few more words. "Perhaps when she's not around, you can tell me some embarassing stories of her. I'll protect you from her wrath so she doesn't turn you into kindling."

Hermione glared at him. He still wasn't sure if she was being tongue-in-cheek or not. Though the look on her face was quite alluring and if it wasn't for the fact that her father was standing ten feet behind them, he would have definitely placed his tongue in her cheek right then.

"Can we climb ... Jack?" asked Harry.

"If he gives you permission," she muttered.

He looked at her.

"Ask him!" she hissed.

"Ah." He looked at the tree, and then at her father. Clearly, the smirking man was not about to offer assistance. He turned back to the tree. "May I - may we - climb you, Jack?"

They waited.

"Right," said Hermione. "We can climb now."

Harry looked at her.

"He didn't say no, did he?" she asked. "Therefore, we can climb him. Just don't break off any branches. Don't pull off any leaves either - that tickles him." She turned to look at the tree. "Thank you, Jack."

Harry muttered his thanks as well, and approached the trunk of the old oak. "Leg up?" he asked Hermione.

"I'll have you know I've been climbing Jack since I was six, Harry," she said huffily. He breathed a sigh of relief. This was the Hermione he was used to. "Now you and dad can talk a little while I get Blaise's photos."

"He gave you his photos?" asked Harry, surprised.

"Early Christmas gift," she said. "He didn't think you would bring your set and he said they would be good for bonding." She paused. "It's funny how much I've learnt from him about you and male psychology in general. I think I may elevate Blaise Zabini to the status of a good book."

"I'm sure he'd be glad to hear that," said Harry to himself as he watched his girlfriend head back to the house. He turned his gaze to Emmanuel Granger. The dentist smiled and handed him a plastic bottle of cold apple juice. Harry nodded in gratitude. Emmanuel had a bottle of beer himself.

"Relax, Harry," he said. "Let's climb Jack and have a drink, alright? I have heard nothing but good things about you, and I have not seen anything to change my opinion of that."

"Er. Thank you, sir," replied Harry.

"Call me Emmanuel, Harry. Or, if you want to get in on the family joke, call me Emma."

Harry had already begun to climb the lowermost branches. He paused. "The family joke, sir? I mean, Emmanuel?"

"Emmanuel is rather awkward, isn't it? I used to go by my middle name of Nicholas when I was in school." Mr Granger followed Harry up the oak and found a good spot. "My wife's name is Daniela. We call her Dan, they call me Emma. And Hermione's Oni - when she's not in earshot. Hence, family joke."

Harry chuckled. "I'll try to get used to it, Emma."

"Good, good. Don't risk the Oni though." He took a swig from his bottle. "I believe this is the part of the conversation where I say 'tell me about yourself', but Hermione's told me so much about you that that seems rather ridiculous."

"Ah." Harry's face took on a tinge of pink.

"Quick to blush. She documented that."

Their conversation was halted quicker than they had expected, when Hermione rushed out again. She was wearing a loose and faded black jeans with a pink t-shirt that said something in a language Harry didn't know:

**לורד, תעניק לי סבלנות , עכשיו**

"What does that say, Mione?" he asked, curious. "Ancient Runes for a protection spell?"

Emmanuel made a funny noise while his daughter looked slightly embarassed.

"Actually, it's Hebrew. There are Hebrew runes, but this isn't one. My folks took me to Israel when I was eight. And..." Her explanation tapered off as she saw the eager look on her father's face. "Oh dear."

"Right," Emmanuel said with a chuckle. "That look on her face is my cue to get started." He rubbed his hands gleefully. "Imagine the situation, Harry. Here's Dan and I in Tel Aviv, being dragged around by this overgrown toddler who wants to go _everywhere_, and she's accidentally dropped ice cream on the front of her t-shirt so we have to buy a new one..."

"Dad!" cried Hermione, her face in her hands.

"... so we pass by one of these souvenier shops that sells t-shirts and ask the shopkeeper if he has any t-shirts. He takes one look at Hermione, who still wants to go and see everything she's read about in the tour guidebook, and he says that he knows _just the thing._"

"Waaah!"

Hermione was ignored by the two men in her life.

"He gives her the t-shirt and while she goes with Dan to the back of the store to put it on, the shopkeeper tells me what it means." Emmanuel was clearly savouring the moment. Harry leaned forward expectantly. "It says '**Lord, grant me patience _now_**!'"

Hermione rolled her eyes while Harry and Emmanuel went into hysterics.

"Honestly!" She stood with her arms folded with the most adorable pout (in Harry's considered opinion), still holding onto the set of wizarding photographs she had brought. "Well! If you've quite finished, give a girl a hand up!"

Harry pulled her up, careful not to mention anything about girls who had climbed certain trees since they were six years old. She found a position next to her father, on the opposite side of Harry.

"Right dad, you hold these," she said imperiously. "They're a bunch of pictures taken by Blaise Zabini, that crazy friend of ours. Harry's seen them before, but I haven't."

"Actually," said Harry, peering over to look at the photographs. "There are a couple of new ones. I haven't seen that one before."

The two Grangers looked at it and started to laugh. It had a picture of Fred and George Weasley at the breakfast table. One was completely green - both body and robes - while the other was completely silver.

"This is amusing," said Emmanuel. "But you've described far more complicated tricks in your letters, Hermione. You both are laughing a bit too much, aren't you?"

Hermione started to say something but then stopped and gave her boyfriend a look that ordered him to explain instead.

"Well, Emma," said Harry slowly, "you're right. It's not normally that funny, but those two are the Weasley twins, the greatest pranksters of our generation. This was the first time in four years - at least - that they've been successfully pranked in turn. This was pulled off by a couple of Slytherin third years - Magnus Olafsson and Isadora Parks..."

"Hey!" said Hermione, surprised. "I didn't know you knew who did it?

"You never asked," said Harry, "Other things came up, I guess, and then we both forgot... oh look!" Emmanuel had moved to a different photograph. "It's the flying Weasley!"

"He looks quite funny with all his legs splayed out, doesn't he?" said Emmanuel. "Rather like a flying spider."

Hermione choked and started laughing wildly.

* * *

Inside the house, a dentist, werewolf, and vampire were having a more serious discussion. 

"Hermione has told us about some of the discrimination she faces at Hogwarts because we're Muggles. She also said you'd know all about that. How bad is it?"

Crina looked at Remus, who nodded.

"It's pretty bad," said the werewolf. "I think the two of you should talk about it while I go place wards around the house."

"Wards?" asked Daniela. "Aren't those like shields for protection?"

"Yes, they are," agreed Crina as Remus left. "It's like the Second World War in Europe, with the Muggleborns as Jews or Roma. There's a Hitler around, trying to come to political power. He's been inactive for over a decade, but that ceased a few months ago."

* * *

The attack happened at dinner. Daniela was describing a highly entertaining - for all but one of those present - account of the time an eight year old Hermione was sitting in Jack, reading, when it began to rain. Since her accidental magic kept the book dry, she had been oblivious to the change in weather and the fact that she was completely soaked. 

Suddenly, Crina dropped her cutlery. "The wards are going down," she said stiffly.

Remus paused, paled, and agreed.

"What's going on?" cried Daniela.

"We are probably being attacked," said Crina. She was already up and heading towards the door. She had been so fast that no-one could recall the intermediary steps of pushing her chair back and standing up. Or they had been two shocked to notice.

"Harry, Hermione," said Remus, taking charge. "Grab the Grangers. We're going to investigate. If you hear anything unusual, activate the emergency Portkeys and get to Hogwarts. Kapeesh?"

"Accio Dad's wallet!" cried Hermione, following this up with a Summoning of her mother's handbag. The two objects arrived just before half the windows in the house shattered.

"Go!" shouted Remus.

"Remus is a bad dog!" shouted two voices, not in unison.

The last thing Harry saw, just as he felt the Portkey take him and Hermione's father to the Shrieking Shack, was the presence of two other winged figures in the room. Vampires! He hoped his mother and Lupin would be able to hold them off. He wondered briefly what they were holding them off for, and figured they wanted to see who was attacking or protect the house.

He arrived with a dazed and confused Emmanuel Granger into a dank room. The last thing he thought as several beams of red light approached him was that this place did _not_ look like the Shrieking Shack.

* * *

"Ah, Mr and Mrs Granger," said the cultured voice of Lord Voldemort. He was wearing plush top-of-the-line purple robes, and thin fingers wrapped around an elegantly held wine glass. "I'm delighted you joined us." 

He gazed at the two figures frozen in comfortable armchairs. Both were under silencing spells, and had given up trying to yell at him. He took the spell off quietly, and amused himself by seeing how long it would take them to notice.

"My name is Lord Voldemort," he said. "I am the greatest wizard in Western Europe, to put it modestly. You must consider yourself highly privileged. You are the first Muggles that I have failed to torture and kill in a long time." He watched their eyes widen in fear, and smiled. "Don't be alarmed. I will not kill you. Or torture you, for that matter." He chuckled. "Not directly, in any case." He waved his wand, and the doors flung open.

Two cloaked figures dragged the limp and bedgraggled body of Hermione Jane Granger into the room. Her dress was tattered and torn in ways that left little to the imagination as to what had been done to her.

Daniela shrieked loudly and tried to go to her daughter. Emmanuel shouted, "Hermione!" in an anguished voice. The body bind kept him firmly in place as well.

Lord Voldemort smiled. He listened to their cries as his Death Eaters resumed their torture and violation of the girl. He sipped his wine slowly. When he reached the bottom of his glass, he would put her out of her misery.

* * *

Crina woke up to the sound of Remus screaming. The werewolf was naked, and floundering on the floor like a fish out of water. Cloaked figures watched him, laughing, and sent him down to the floor with a flick of their wands whenever he tried to get up. 

Crina shook her head and looked again. What the hell?

Then she realized the problem - the floor was silver.

She lunged to his aid, only for her wrists and feet to meet painful resistance. They were tied with Acromantula silk, one of the few substances strong enough to hold a vampire down. She glanced at her hand. The ring was still there.

The ring she had got from Minerva McGonagall. The rings that she and Remus had used when they were overpowered by the vampires at the Grangers' residence.

_WHAT?_

McGonagall had given a Portkey that took her to a place where Remus was being tortured and she had the same freedom of movement as a turnip? Where did her former Transfiguration teacher get the Portkeys from?

If she could just calm down, then perhaps she would be able to escape. Her son and the Grangers would probably be here as well. Wherever _here_ was.

There are different kinds of vampires. Each clan and family has its own secrets that are kept from the other clans and outsiders. The one that had adopted her - however modest and low-status the adoption - was called the Leganu clan in public. Within the clan it was called Phlogiston.

Crina burst into flame. It hurt like hell, but the hurt was due to an intense feeling of magic leaving her body rather than any heat related phenomena. She forced herself to increase the speed at which the magic left her body, and hence the temperature of the flame. The Acromantula silk began to fray, and she finally managed to snap her bonds. She smiled. Now she needed to replenish her magic, which was fastest done by having a drink. And her drinks were standing right in front of her...

Two minutes later, she was crouching over her best friend's badly burnt and bruised body. Around her, three Death Eaters and two vampires lay still - a large part of keeping a clan secret was to ensure there weren't any witnesses left who could talk about it. One of the Death Eaters still had his head attached to his chest. But the chest wasn't attached to the rest of him.

She picked her friend up. "Remus! REMUS! Oh God you stupid werewolf, wake up!"

She walked over to one of the Death Eaters and, seeing as he no longer had any need for it, picked up his wand. She conjured a wooden pallet and laid the werewolf on it.

She would have to get him medical attention soon. That meant the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts since anti-Lycanthropism was rampant at St Mungo's. But she couldn't leave this building, since her hellspawn was still here. She could feel Harry through the vampire mother-son link. Paul's presence could also be felt but it was distant.

Portkey! She could make a Portkey, Ministry rules be damned. But only Dumbledore, and perhaps McGonagall, could make one that could enter Hogwarts. She'd have to send him to the gates, and hope someone picked him up. She turned the pallet into a Portkey and activated it. Remus vanished.

Crina Vanescu grabbed the other wands in the room and settled down for a drink. She would need her strength to find her son.

* * *

Hermione paced up and down the cell, trying very hard not to panic. Her parents were probably dead by now, if they were lucky. She could hear Harry's screaming from a couple of cells next to her. The only question was whether Voldemort had yet to join the Death Eaters in torturing him. 

The screams stopped, and then started again. But this time different voices were screaming. Were those her parents?

The screams stopped again.

She looked around, feeling oddly vulnerable. Screams stopping in one place were usually a cue for screams starting in another place, weren't they? At least that was what the storybooks she read had said. But they also promised rescue by a valiant knight, and her knight had been screaming recently.

Her eyes alighted on the stinking bucket in the corner of the room.

She heard footsteps approaching, and dashed to the bucket. It would make a good, if nasally distressing, weapon. But it was too late, and a vampire was in the room, blood dripping from its mouth and liberally covering much of its face and body and robes.

"Thank goodness, Hermione!" said Crina, her shoulders sagging in relief. "You're alright!"

Hermione looked at her, shocked. Her interaction with her Defence teacher had resulted in her thinking of vampires as 'humans with a few odd cravings'. A different kind of human.

She had not, until this moment, realized _exactly_ how different.

She cringed. Crina frowned, and then looked at her hands and robes.

"Dang it." The look of petulance on the vampire's face would have been hilarious under less surreal circumstances. "Just stop for a few drinks and ... sheise! Ruined these robes again. What a waste of good blood." Crina pointed her wand to herself and whipped off a bunch of cleaning spells.

"My apologies, Hermione," she said as she walked to the girl and gave her half a dozen wands. "I'll explain later. Remus and Harry are fine, and we have to find your folks. Now try those wands. Human magic is much more finicky about wands than vampire magic."

Hermione nodded silently and took them. She flinched visibly as she noticed the blood on the wands, but managed to find a couple that worked. She moved to break the others, but Crina stopped her.

"Never break a wand in an unknown situation," said her teacher. "Even if you can't use it, you might someone who wants to use it." She held out her hand for the remaining wands. Hermione handed them over, and the teacher cast anti-summoning spells on them before handing two back and keeping the rest. "In case we meet more prisoners who need wands. Now come with me."

Hermione followed Professor Vanescu to the cell where Harry lay. He was unconscious, bruised, and bloodied.

"I don't know how many Cruciati he's taken," said Crina sadly. "Do you think I should wake him up?"

Hermione looked at her, surprised that her opinion was being solicited.

"What?" asked Crina. "You know him better than I do."

"You seem more used to this," said Hermione after a while. She waved her hand round across the room, where three bodies lay. One body looked particularly pale and drained. "This. Everything."

"Alright, then," said Crina. "You are going to Hogwarts with Harry. I'll make you a Portkey. Oh, and we'll need to have a talk. I remember what it was like the first few times."

Hermione looked at her defiantly. "Portkeys?"

"I'll make it myself. I'm not trusting any Portkeys given to me any more."

"Those emergency Portkeys that you gave us. You said they were from Professor McGonagall? How?"

"I'd like to know myself," replied Crina. "As soon as you get Harry into the Hospital Wing, go find Dumbledore. Tell him _everything_. Someone sabotaged Minerva's Portkeys and we need to find out who did it. In the meantime, I'll find your parents. What happened when you got here? Perhaps I can figure out where they are."

"Not much," said Hermione. "We were stunned as soon as we got here. When I woke up, I was in that cell."

"You're right, that's not much to go on. Sorry, I didn't mean to snap. I just hate this."

"Professor," asked Hermione hesitantly, "if I gave you some of my blood, would you be able to find my parents more easily?"

The vampire looked shocked for a moment, and then smiled sadly and shook her head. "I see you've been reading again," she said fondly. "But I'm too young to do that. In a couple of centuries, maybe."

She stripped off some more of her robes and created another Portkey. "This activates in one minute. Take Harry and scat. You'll end up at the gates to Hogwarts." She remembered something as Hermione took her son's hand. "Oh! And you should find Remus there already. They were torturing him by forcing him to lie down on a silver floor."

Hermione looked horrified as she vanished with her boyfriend.

"Right then," muttered Crina to herself in an effort to not think about everything happening around her. "Better go get the Grangers. Once I have another drink."

* * *

Lord Voldemort put his empty wine glass down. The Grangers were sobbing now, as their throats were too hoarse from screaming. He stood up and walked over to the half dead girl. His Death Eaters stepped aside, adjusting their robes. 

_"Avada Kedavra."_

He turned to the Grangers. After a sufficient amount of time enjoying the looks on their faces, he halted the emotional torture out of boredom.

"That was not your daughter."

He pointed to the corpse and said another spell. It morphed into a young blonde teenager. They looked at her, shocked. Relief hadn't set in yet.

"You see, Mr and Mrs Granger," he said, twirling his wand. "That was a warning. That was what I _can_ do to your daughter. Except I won't be so _merciful_. You will be returned to your home - what's left of it - in a few minutes, and your daughter will follow you there. You will then leave the country, and take your daughter with you." He walked to his desk and picked up a few colourful brochures. "St Clemens. The Canadian Institute for Magic. The Kiwi School for Witches. All good places for your daughter." He applied sticking charms to them and levitated them to the Grangers' frozen bodies. "Not that I really care. Get her out of Britain, out of Europe. You have a week. Otherwise I shall then come after her, and I _will_ kill her."

He lifted the Body Bind and activated the Portkeys that their chairs had been converted to. They would end up in the charred remains of the Granger Residence at Number 11 Bailiwick Road in Durham and then flee the country with their wretched daughter. The vampires would have done their work by now, and probably dined on the Grangers' neighbours as well. The Daily Prophet would lap it up and the Ministry would then drive the vampires into an alliance with him.

Lord Voldemort stood up and walked to the dungeons to speak with Harry Potter. He would plant the idea of joining him in the boy's head, and then allow him and the Mudblood to escape. And when her parents took her away from Britain, Potter would be adequately broken and wary of Mudblood pollution to allow other more _appropriate_ influences to enter his life.

That was why he had let the Grangers live. Killing them would only have set Potter against him. Even if the rest of that stupid prophecy said that Potter could beat him, it was better to keep one's enemies close.

* * *

_Let the flames begin! And for Circe's sake don't think that Voldemort is behaving out of character. He's only being smart. Forgive him. _

_The idea of torturing a Polyjuiced Hermione came from lorien829's brilliant fic "Resistance" (story 2746577 on ffnet). It's really good - there's a severe shortage of fics where Hermione directly rescues Harry. _

_I couldn't resist the Dan and Emma joke. It's funny how many fics name the Grangers after a couple of actors... what's the big deal about Mr Radcliffe and Ms Watson for fanfictionistas anyway? They are not the characters they play, are they? After all, Mr Grint is a far better actor than his character is a worthy human being... _


	11. Citrina Unmasked

_A/N: My apologies in advance - I couldn't make this chapter funny._

* * *

Lord Voldemort walked down to the dungeons where Harry Potter and his Mudblood wench were imprisoned. It was silent. Good.

He opened the door to Potter's cell and his eyes widened imperceptibly. Three of his Death Eaters - Carnavon, Nott, Goyle - were here. Partly here. Many parts. Nott looked far more pale than normal, and Lord Voldemort realized he had been mostly drained of blood.

No sign of Potter.

Damn and blast!

Some vampire had killed his own people!

Come to think of it, what were his Death Eaters doing here in the first place? Had they disobeyed his express instructions not to harm Potter till Lord Voldemort had a chance to convince him to come to his side?

Evans...

Of course. The blasted mother whose charm had killed him thirteen years ago and was now a vampire. She must have escaped. He turned and proceeded to her cell and found a similar scene of carnage. Despite himself, he was impressed. How on earth did she break the Acromantula silk? The Impali vampires had assured him that would be sufficient to hold her. They had been wrong, apparently. He would have to remember more often that vampires kept secrets from each other.

He mentally rearranged his mental hit list so that Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore fell to the second and third position respectively. Lily Evans now ruled the roost.

His sharp mind had already processed the further implications. Evans had escaped and was probably on her way now to tell Dumbledore about the leak in his ranks. Which meant that...

He summoned Snape. He needed someone to wreak vengeance upon.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore listened to Hermione's frantic exclamations with a growing sense of horror. A number of small behavioural changes with his Deputy Headmistress, changes that had seemed innocuous at the time, suddenly meant something quite different.

He had immediately asked Fawkes to find McGonagall and the phoenix had done so. She was in her personal quarters - as a prisoner in a dimensional trunk. Her impersonator, the person who had given Potter's troupe a set of dubious Portkeys, had long fled.

Even worse, Snape had disappeared. The Potions Master's office had shown all the signs associated with a hurried response to being summoned by Voldemort.

Horrified, Dumbledore realized he had discussed Snape's reports from the Dark Lord in front of the spy impersonating McGonagall. Severus' cover was blown and the man was probably being tortured at that moment.

* * *

Crina wished she could spread her wings and fly around the mansion. But the corridors were too small for her ten foot wingspan. Where the hell were the Grangers? Was is possible that someone else had already rescued them? Snape might have, if he was around.

She suddenly remembered that she still had her charmed notebook. She backtracked to a large room she had seen and flew up to a dark corner of the high ceiling. She spread her wings and flew up, hovering. She took the notebook from her robes, wiped off some caked blood off her right hand, and began to write a brief note asking Hermione to see if her parents were safe since she could not find them in Voldemort's lair. She added a command that would cause the kids' notebooks to sound an alarm to read the message at once.

* * *

Daniela and Emmanuel Granger arrived, still in their armchairs, in the middle of what looked like a war zone. Their house was in complete ruins with burnt books and broken charred furniture littering the wreckage. Around them they could hear their neighbours crying and shouting and the blaring of sirens.

Emmanuel found he could move himself again, and promptly took off his shirt that he had retched on several times. He would have taken off his soiled trousers as well but a sense of public decency prevented that. He rushed to his distraught wife and held her tightly.

There was a crack, and they both turned sharply and backed away. It was an old white-bearded gentlemen that they guessed was Hermione's Headmaster from his Gandalfic appearance.

"Emmanuel and Daniel Granger?" he asked, his eyes full of concern. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and am truly sorry for whatever you have witnessed this night. Hermione is very worried about you. She is safe at Hogwarts now, as is Harry Potter, and asked me to check on you. Will you come with me to Hogwarts?"

Mr Granger looked at him with a mixture of distrust, relief, and shock. His wife pushed her crying face further into his shoulder.

"Others will be coming to help," added Dumbledore, "but your safety is critical, and Hogwarts is the safest place to be."

"She's not going back there!" shouted Daniela suddenly.

The old man looked surprised and then nodded. "Very well," he said. "But she is at Hogwarts now and is waiting for you. Perhaps you could discuss this with her yourself?"

Emmanuel looked at his wife and nodded. The Headmaster nodded back gratefully and approached them to hold their hands and side-Apparate them away.

* * *

_Professor Vanescu _

_My parents are safe at Hogwarts. Mr Lupin is still alive but it's very bad. Poppy has filled Harry with half the contents of her Potions cabinet and he's sleeping. He'll be fine though. _

_The Headmaster asks that you get to Hogwarts chop chop. _

_HJG _

Lily read the note that her favourite teen witch had left behind. She hadn't pinned Hermione to be the kind of girl who said 'chop chop', let along wrote it down, and figured she must still be in shock.

Well, if the Grangers were not here any more, she might as well blow the mansion up... but there might be prisoners here. And it would be better, for intelligence purposes, to leave something more locatable behind.

She was had just fitted a few rooms with some of her favourite charmed devices when the screaming began.

Checking that her Disillusionment Charm had not worn off, she proceeded in the direction of the screams and then halted.

Lord Voldemort was there, along with a dozen other Death Eaters. They were taking turns to curse her former classmate and rival. Blood coated the floor liberally around him and she could see bits of gore, flesh, and skin scattered or hanging off his body.

There was no way she could get him out, not with Voldemort there. He would not survive this even if she did. She might have tried, once, but she had a family to return to, a family to remain safe for. She prepared a Portkey that would take him out.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

She whispered the spell from where she hovered six feet off the ground in the corner of the large hall. It hit Snape and the man ceased his reflexive jerking and kickinfg. She felt the magical kickback of the spell mix with her regretful emotions of the loss of an old acquaintance.

Lily Evans would never again argue with Severus Snape about the correct dosage of belladonna in wolfsbane or about the need for abicus root in Felix Felicis. She respected Snape. And knew that he would have mercy killed her had their positions been reversed.

The last thing she saw as the Portkey took her out was the furious face of Lord Voldemort.

* * *

_To: Sirius Annoius Black  
Department of Magical Law Enforcement _

_From: James Mophedd Potter  
Department of International Magical Cooperation _

_Just had word from Hogwarts. Harry and Moony in Hospital Ward. Both captured by You Know Who. Moony nearly dead by silver torture. Meet you at the Fountain in fifteen minutes and we'll go. _

* * *

Blaise was having breakfast in the Great Hall when the Yule Eve edition of the Daily Prophet arrived. He had convinced Katie to go with him to the Ball the next day, once he had offered her copies of all his candid camera photographs and a signed Quaffle from the Holyhead Harpies Chasers (his older sister was an assistant Keeper coach for the Harpies).

Katie Bell made a good Slytherin, he reckoned. He hooked his left elbow in her right and continued to attack his scrambled eggs as if nothing had happened. She glared at him but didn't extract her arm.

"You must be kidding," said Terry to Neville. The two boys were sitting opposite them. "Cactus roots are useless when they're completely dry."

Longbottom shook his head vigorously. "They make great fertilizer for other cacti."

"That's a load of -"

Whatever Terry was going to say was cut short by Padma's loud cry as she stared at the newspaper. She turned it towards them so they could see the headline.

**Vampires Attack Muggles! Ten killed!**

Blaise glanced immediately to the Head Table. Professor Vanescu was absent. Come to think of it, there were a lot of empty seats there - no McGonagall, Snape, or Dumbledore.

"On the night of the twenty third of December," read Padma, "a group of vampires attacked a Muggle suburb of Durham..."

"Durham!" said Terry, looking over her shoulder. "Isn't that where Hermione lives?"

Blaise nodded. Padma was still reading.

" ... The Ministry has ordered an immediate crackdown on all vampires resident in Britain ..."

* * *

It was nine in the morning. Despite the time, Lily Evans was wide awake.

She sat in the Hospital Wing, between her best friend and son. Hermione was not there - the poor girl was with her parents in one of Hogwarts' many guest suites trying to convince them not to make her leave Britain.

Lily could understand the Grangers' reaction very well. They were moving to South Africa, where Daniela's brother lived, as soon as they could. And they wanted to take Hermione with them, far away from her magnet-for-danger boyfriend.

Said boyfriend had taken half a dozen Cruciati, but was recovering quickly. He was sitting up with her, looking at Remus while having a late breakfast of horrifically bland hospital food.

The werewolf had nearly died and was now covered with several painful silver burns. He was now lying on a bed but in a permanent state of levitation and warming charms a foot above it. Pomfrey did not know if he would survive the next full moon.

Lily had already sent off messages to members of Remus' pack, and they would be arriving the next day.

"What's Hermione going to do?" asked Harry. Lily took a deep breath - she'd wondered when this question would come up. _Will she break up with me?_ Some questions couldn't be said aloud, for fear of an answer being said aloud as well.

"I don't think she'll let you go," replied Lily honestly.

"But what if they make her choose between her and me?" There was no question who 'they' were.

Lily sighed. She'd never spoken with her son about her own past, of the way her own family had treated her once they knew of her magical ability. "You know Hermione and I have many things in common, right Harry?" Her son nodded. "I had to make a similar choice - similar in some ways - when I was eleven." He stared at her, attention completely riveted.

She stood and paced, her wings coming out halfway and fanning her gently as they did when she was nervous.

"My parents and sister were Christians," she said. "They thought magic was, well, witchcraft. In the Muggle world, in the Muggle religion called Christianity that they had, that's very bad. They hated magic like Voldemort hates Muggles. Quite ironic really, given that their religious figures like Moses and Jesus were wizards. I had to run away from home when I got my Hogwarts letter. Magic made so much more sense to me than the tripe I'd grown up with till then. I never did go back - I stayed with friends and other family during the summer, and Hogwarts has scholarships for people like me who couldn't pay."

Harry's mouth was open. "But what about Gran?" he asked.

"My mother and I fully reconciled later," admitted Lily. "Especially after you two were born. Nothing than a pair of lively twins to bring out the grandmotherly instincts, you know? She had a falling out with father when I was sixteen when she found out he was having an affair or two. Some church elder he was, the bloody accountant. Anyhow, Mum and I began reconciling at my wedding. I hadn't expected her to turn up, but she did."

"Point is," she continued, "Hermione's a stubborn witch. She's not going to lose you over this. On the other hand, she loves her parents and will not want to hurt them. She'll work very hard to find a compromise."

There was silence for a while. Lily realized her wings were out and folded them away.

"I'd probably do the same if I was in their position," admitted Harry.

"So would I," replied Lily. "But not forever. You remember what the Headmaster said he saw in their minds about watching a _Polyjuiced_ Hermione being raped, tortured, and killed."

The emphasis on the word 'Polyjuice' was clear. Minerva McGonagall - the real one - lay several beds from them, looking horribly gaunt and thin even by her prim standards. Pomfrey had had to work very hard to persuade her to not return to the feline form in which she had spent most of the past few months.

"I think I should break up with Hermione," said Harry in a small voice.

His mother whipped her head to look at him. "Do that and you'll be in great danger."

Harry gulped. "From who? She's in great danger from You Know Who because of me already!"

"You'll be in danger from _me_ if you break up with her for this," hissed his mother, flapping her wings menacingly. She smiled, but Harry could tell she was not speaking completely in jest. "It's her decision, Harry. Be patient. Be supportive. If she has to go to Ulan Bator for a year or two or three to please her parents, I hope you wait for her."

There was a cough from the doorway. Harry and Lily turned round. Their faces hardened in unison as they saw the newcomers.

James Potter. Sirius Black. The _other_ Marauders.

Harry could see that his mother wanted to leave and moved his hand to hold and squeeze hers.

"Ah," said Sirius hesitantly. "We came here to see Harry and Moony. Albus said Moony was - bad."

Lily avoided the temptation to mention that this was the first time they had talked to their friend in over two years. She stood up from where she had been sitting on the side of Harry's bed and spread her wings in her most menacing manner.

"Don't hurt my boys." Her voice was low and guttural. James looked ashen faced. Sirius nodded.

"I'll be back, Harry," she said in her regular voice, and her son smiled back at her. "Let me know if either of them causes _trouble_."

* * *

An hour passed.

"Lily."

She was standing outside, near the Hospital Wing. She recognized his voice and refused to turn around. But she spread her wings and flapped them, to rub in his face exactly what she was.

"I am sorry," said James Potter.

She said nothing.

"You have every right to be angry with me," he continued hesitantly. "I was wrong."

She said nothing.

"When you disappeared in Italy, I went mad, I think. Remus and Sirius took care of the twins. I searched for you everywhere. I learnt everything I could about killing vampires and even killed a few."

She said nothing.

"It's very difficult to get information on vampires, you know. Well, maybe you wouldn't know. Since you are one, and all that. Vampires don't seem to leave a lot of information around for non-vampires. I'd never heard about memory loss."

She turned around and looked at him. She was hovering a foot off the ground, though she did not realize it. Her ex-husband swallowed.

"I thought it was a hoax, a cruel hoax. And when you mentioned some things that only you would know, I thought you had abandoned us. Abandoned me."

She stared at him.

"Yes, I know, I know it was stupid. I didn't show Remus or Sirius the letters. Perhaps they would have convinced me of it. Moony would have, certainly."

Her wings waved a bit faster and she rose a foot.

"I moved on. It was hard, but Mary was very nice. Nothing like you, no challenge at all. Easy. I didn't have to think very hard. Never had to think, really. I still don't. She was happy to take care of Paul. I played with Paul a lot too. I kind of forgot about Harry."

"Forgot." One word, when said in a sufficiently low pitch, could cause goosebumps. At least it did for James Potter.

"I regret it every day," he added.

"What do you want, James Potter?" she asked. He winced. She said it in the same cold, biting tone that she had said his name for the first six years they had known each other. "Forgiveness? Me to pet you on the head and tell you not to worry and everything will be alright? Me to avoid separating your head from your body? I've done that seven times in the last twenty four hours, you know. It would have been eight, but the bastard's body separated at the torso."

"I - I - I don't know, Lily."

"You never changed in seventh year, did you? Always the attention seeker, the arrogant unthinking rich bumpkin. I'm glad you kept Harry from you, because he has somehow managed to avoid learning everything that made you a piece of worthless shit."

"Lily, I -"

"Yes?" she asked sweetly.

"I did love you."

"And now?"

"I don't know. I tried very hard to stop loving you. I don't know if I succeeded. I try not to think about it." He paused for a long minute, gazing elsewhere. "But it's not relevant, is it?"

"Not really, no."

Silence.

"What - what happened to Moony?" asked James.

A safe topic. They could both deal with safe topics. Now they were a vampire DADA instructor and a Ministry employee who was an old friend of a sick and dying werewolf.

"He was stripped naked and made to lie down on a silver floor. If he stood up they knocked him down again."

"Bastards."

"Dead bastards. One of the dead bastards tasted good, too."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that." James gazed at his wife, the woman he had loved for a decade.

"Good thing you don't have to."

Silence. But she was calming down now, since she was standing on Terra Firma again and her wings had stopped moving by themselves. She folded them in.

"Is there anything Sirius or I can do for Moony?" asked James. "We've got contacts in the Ministry. If there are any restricted ingredients for any Potion you or Snape can brew, then we can get them."

Lily, for the first time, smiled. "His pack is coming in tomorrow. I'll let you know." She frowned again. "Speaking of Severus, he's dead."

James jerked his head up, staring at her. "What? How?"

"I killed him," she replied with a sigh. "Avada. He was being tortured by Voldemort and his lackeys. They must have been using spells to keep him alive at that point. I killed him and got out."

James swallowed but nodded in understanding. "I'm sure he's grateful."

"I think so," replied Lily. "I hope he can be happy now."

James could not think of anything that would make his hated childhood enemy happy. Mercifully, he said nothing about it.

They heard loud footsteps behind them.

"Hello Lily."

"Greetings, Black."

"It's Sirius," clarified the newcomer.

"When you can explain to me why you neglected one of your godsons for the other, then I'll call you that, _Black_."

"I see," said Sirius sheepishly. "Harry was very reserved, and..."

"Yes, yes," replied Lily impatiently. "So was Moony and yet you accepted him - then, at least. Harry's a Slytherin. Which makes him Dark. And you, a Light child of a Dark family, would absolutely detest a Dark child of a Light family. A brilliant display of all that separates Light from Dark, don't you think? You do realize that if I hadn't been Muggleborn I would have been in Slytherin? Not to mention that whole Boy Who Lived shit. Dumb dog." She glanced at James. "Stupid stag."

"But Evans, I - never mind." His apologetic posture changed to his more usual, professional one. "I've got news from the Ministry."

She looked sharply at him. News from the Ministry was rarely good. Especially when referred to in that tone of voice.

"You know vampires attacked the Grangers?" asked Sirius. Lily nodded. "Of course you did, seeing as you were there. Thing is, they also attacked the whole neighbourhood. Houses are in ruins, ten Muggles are dead, and four Muggle children are missing. The Ministry is Taking Action. All vampires in Britain must come in for registration."

"Registration?" she asked warily.

"That's what they're calling it," sighed Sirius Black. "It's a damn crock. Registration involves handing over samples of your blood and hair."

"WHAT?" she shouted. "Do you know what they can do to us with that?"

"Course I do. As I said, it's a crock. One of Umbridge's rules."

"Lily," said James hesitantly, "maybe you should leave the country. Till this is all over."

"All over?" she scoffed. "Not as long as Fudge is in office. Look, there are ways of getting around..."

"Shut up, Lily!" yipped Sirius. "Don't tell us! Plausible deniability and all that shit!"

"Sorry," she said sincerely. "Thanks," she added.

"Do you know who the vampires were?" asked Sirius.

Lily looked serious again. She began pacing, and her wings spread out again. "I didn't get a good look. But the ones that were torturing Remus were Impali. Maybe Caponetto, they've got similar uniforms. But the Caponetto leaders aren't stupid; they'd never join Voldemort. I can tell you they are not Leganu."

"That is new information for us," said James in full International Magical Cooperation Department mode. "Thanks. Do you think any of the other clans would help us fight the Impali?"

"With these new regulations? Are you kidding?"

James winced. "Yeah, yeah, Fudge is an idiot. Even by my standards."

"I can Turn him if you like," offered Lily.

"Don't," said James seriously. "Act of war and all that."

"What of this Umbridge person?" she asked. "Would he taste good?"

"It's a she," said James. "And no, I highly doubt that she'd taste good. But there are people under her who are worse than her, so eliminating her might not be the best thing to do."

"Albus told us that you fought off the other vampires," Sirius said suddenly. "We could do a public relations exercise with that, and make the plebs realize not all vampires are with You Know Who."

"Good luck getting the Daily Prophet to print that," muttered Crina.

* * *

The cat entered the Hospital Wing. It was white and brown, with somewhat longer hair than the average house cat. Locating Harry's bed, it jumped on to it and walked on him to lick his nose.

Harry sneezed. The cat jumped back hurriedly, failed to purchase adequate grip on Harry's bedsheets, and fell off the bed.

"Who's there?" he asked, sleepy but with his wand out.

The cat jumped on the bed again so he could see it. Then it jumped off and turned into a human.

"Hermione!" cried Harry. "When did you -"

"This morning!" she said, beaming. "Times of emotional distress can be ideal for removing the final blocks, you know. It says so in Sturgeon and McKenna."

"Come here," he said. She needed no further invitation, and the next few minutes were devoid of words. When they were done, he moved over in the bed so she could join him.

"How's Mr Lupin?" she asked.

"Still screwed up," he replied. "No change. James and Sirius Black turned up to see us. They're old friends of his, though they stopped talking to him when he followed mum to Romania when James turned his back on Mum when she returned to England after she got her memory back."

Hermione took a couple of seconds to parse the sentence. "And your mother?" she asked.

"They've been talking, I think. Didn't you see them when you came in? You might want to check if they're still alive. But we've got more important things to think about - we're still going to the Ball tomorrow, right?"

"Er," said Hermione. "About that. My parents want me to stay away from you."

"Oh," he said. "Well then."

"You idiot," she hissed. "If I was staying away from you I wouldn't be here, would I? I'm not leaving you, Harry! But we've got to find ways of getting around this!"

"You don't mean just the Ball, though."

"No," she agreed sadly. "Everything."

* * *

_A/N: So. The mystery of Citrina is finally revealed, and we're only at the halfway point of the year. This fic is going on hiatus again. I've been writing and posting nearly a chapter a day for the past week so that I'd be able to leave it at a place where Citrina's impersonation of Minerva would be revealed. The story is now at a place rather like at the end of canon GoF, methinks. You know the future is bleak, hard, but not hopeless, and Harry and Hermione will remain together in spirit. You also know Lily Evans really is back. _

_If anyone wants to read a good fic in the meantime, try "Childish Things" by Chia the Cat. It's story 2219092 on ffdotnet, and actually has the characters post-OOTP behaving like children. The author knows how to write, both technically and plotwise, but the fic remains relatively unknown (certainly unreviewed). Perhaps this is changing now, considering I found it through a Portkey Rec. Go read and review her stuff - it's lekker. _

_If any reader wants to flame me for making Lily's parents chuck her out for religious reasons, do so. But bear in mind that I was a Christian - a Protestant (Presbyterian like) and later a Bible thumping evangelical - before I saw the light at seventeen and became an atheist. It would have been nice if I had been able to reconcile the religion I was brought up with and the ability to think for myself and criticize - just as some Christians and other religious friends I met later are able to do - but I was not. Pity. _

_If you're wondering how Sirius and James and Lily were able to have a civil conversation, bear in mind that it only turned civil once it turned professional. Oh, and I am aware that their middle names are not 'Annoy Us' and 'Mop Head'. _

_Statistics so far (17 October 2006): 25000 hits and 206 reviews on ffdotnet, 12000 hits and 86 reviews on Portkey. 50 C2s and 157 story alerts (and 47 author alerts) on ffdotnet. 1400 people read the last chapter on ffdotnet and Portkey combined in the two days it's been up, in the usual two to one ratio. _


	12. Deceiving the Grangers

_A/N: This chapter should not exist. The story is still officially on hiatus._

* * *

"Listen to me, Mum!" cried Hermione. "I know perfectly well what Voldemort is capable of! I know what you saw! But this is my fight!"

"Hermione, be reasonable," pleaded her father. "You're our only daughter and you mean the world to us. You cannot possibly imagine what went through our heads when that poor girl was -"

He paused, unabled to describe it. Neither of her parents had been able to, but Dumbledore had read their memories (Hermione was still unsure as to how) and told her what they had seen. She had to admit, Voldemort was brilliant at psychological torture.

"We're not even trying to stop you being a witch," added her mother. "Heaven knows we'd like that, but we realize we can't take you away from what you are. But please, let's leave Hogwarts. You'll make new friends ..."

"New friends?" Hermione spun around, her unruly hair following her after a fraction of a second. "You _know_ how hard it is to make new friends! I never had friends at primary school! I never had real friends until Harry! He's always been there for me and he needs me now and I would rather die than leave him!"

"Exactly!" screamed Daniela Granger. "You could die! We saw you die!"

"We would rather have you alive than with Harry," said Emmanuel Granger quietly, placing an arm on his sobbing wife. "He's a very nice young man, and it's not his fault that a terrorist is after him, but that doesn't change the fact that it is dangerous to be around him."

The Grangers had been arguing for three days now, but this was the first day that the argument had been anywhere near reasonable. It was difficult to exchange views while two of the three people involved were in hysterics.

They had forbidden her from going to the Yule Ball with Harry and she had refused to go with anyone else. She had locked herself in her room, but not before forcing Harry to go with Padma as his date so that he could perform his duty as Hogwarts Champion. Once the pair had done the obligatory first dance, they had split up - Padma to Terry's awaiting arms and Harry to Hermione's bedroom window.

A few silencing and music playback charms later, Harry and Hermione had shared several dances in the confines of her bedroom, and he had held her as she mourned the fact that she hadn't been able to wear her sky blue robes. Harry had not understood why the dress or dance meant so much to her, but understood that they did and promised that, somehow, he would make it up to her later.

There was a flutter of wings at the window sill. It was the black and white eagle with green eyes again.

"Oh," said Daniela. "It's your eagle again." She went over to the window to stroke its feathers. "It's got a note for you, Hermione. Here."

"Thanks, Mum," said the witch, smirking at her boyfriend's Animagus form as he leaned into her mother's hands for another scratch behind the ear.

"Smart bird, that Jackass," remarked Emmanuel, grateful for the interruption. He had already begun talking with their solicitors in preparation for a rapid move overseas, while Daniela had been dealing with the insurance company.

The eagle looked affronted for a moment at its appellation, but returned to its preening self with a few more head scratches.

"It's from the Headmaster," said Hermione, reading the letter. "He wants me to come to his office now. He also says that he'll send a couple of folks in twenty minutes to give you both another tour around the school. He - er - apologizes for the Giant Squid's antics yesterday."

The eagle flew over and sat on Hermione's shoulder.

"Oof," she grunted. "This birdbrain needs to lose some weight." The eagle pecked at her hair and her mother laughed.

"Give Mr Dumbledore our thanks," said Emmanuel. "We'll talk later, I guess."

Hermione smiled and left the room with Harry still on her shoulder nibbling her hair. He hopped off and transformed back as soon she had turned a couple of corners.

"I'm never going to forgive you for naming me Jackass," he grumbled. "And what was that about losing weight? I'm lighter than you are!"

"Really?" asked Hermione, making a note to weigh their Animagus forms. "And you should be honoured. I named you after my first friend."

"Ah. Jack." He gave Hermione a look.

She laughed, and his insides flipped as they always did in response. "It really was funny, the look on your face when I introduced you to him."

Harry breathed a loud sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin."

"He was my first friend though," she said sadly, thinking of her friendless pre-Hogwarts days. Harry gripped her hand harder and she smiled slightly and looked at him.

"Harry, what's that mark on your cheek?"

"What mark?" he asked, his hand moving to his left cheek.

"The other cheek," she replied before conjuring a mirror. "Here. Look in this."

He squinted at his reflection and was shocked to find a light outline of the letter 'S' on his right cheek. Closer examination showed it was actually a snake coiled in that shape.

"That wasn't there this morning," he said uncertainly.

"Did you look in the mirror this morning?" she asked.

"I'm fourteen," he retorted. "I don't shave yet!"

"Hmph!" she snorted. "Boys! That explains your hair at any rate."

"The only reason for a boy like me to look into a mirror is my hair, and all the mirrors I've talked to have told me to give up on it," he explained. "It's the famous Potter Males Hair Curse cast on us three centuries ago by a wicked witch."

"Really? What did your ancestor do to deserve such a curse?" she asked.

"He pranked her. Charmed her robes transparent to everyone but her. He had intended to make her robes transparent to her only, but got the spell wrong."

"Typical," she laughed. "Good one, Potter."

"I'm not kidding. Our kids will have the same ... oh look, we're here. I'll be waiting for you." He stepped away awkwardly, looking embarassed.

She gave him an odd, searching look. They had arrived at the Headmaster's gargoyle. She repeated the password given in the Headmaster's note.

"Bumblebee Boneheads."

Harry's eyes were still wide when she entered the moving staircase.

* * *

"You performed well," said Lord Voldemort. "Did you leave Hogwarts my goodbye present?"

"Yes, my Lord," said Citrina. "Soon the Ministry will send people flocking to you, Potter included."

* * *

"Ah. Miss Granger. Please sit down."

Hermione was in the office alone with the Headmaster and Fawkes.

"Lemon drop?"

She refused politely.

"Smarties?"

After an involuntary furtive look around to see if her parents were watching, she took three.

"I apologize for not having seen you since you told me what happened," said Dumbledore. "As you can imagine, things have been somewhat hectic."

She finished chewing on her first smartie and swallowed it. The parts of her conscience that sounded like her parents scowled.

"I have blamed myself several times for having been fooled for the past few months. Not only has Voldemort has been successfully revived but one Professor is dead, another gravely hurt, and one student nearly killed. And that's just what we have discovered so far."

The Headmaster looked old. Very old, tired, and guilty.

"Who was she?" asked Hermione. The pronoun was a given, considering that Polyjuice could not be used to impersonate someone of the opposite gender. Unless the drinker was a natural hermaphrodite, of course.

Dumbledore sighed. "An old friend of Professor McGonagall. That's how she knew how to behave. Minerva identified her yesterday. Her name is Citrina Ophelia Harrap. She's a brilliant Charms mistress, a more than competent Transfigurator, an excellent duellist and, obviously, a brilliant actress."

This, understandably enough, sparked more questions.

"They were friends, Headmaster? Why then - "

"Why would she become a Dark Witch?" asked Dumbledore. "There is a long story there, I'm afraid. Professor McGonagall knows the full story and it is not mine to say. I would also request that you do not ask her about it, as it will bring back bad memories for her."

The Headmaster paused. "Perhaps we should talk about you, Miss Granger. Your parents do not wish you to stay here, as far as I can tell. What are your thoughts on the matter?"

"I wish to stay." Her response was firm and definite. "I am not leaving Harry."

"What is Mr Potter's opinion?"

"It took some ... convincing, but he now agrees with me."

"Ah," replied the Headmaster, his eyes twinkling. "Perhaps I can offer you an alternative option."

"Really?" she asked, leaning forward in excitement. She had hoped for this.

"Yes," he replied. "But first I shall have to ask you a few questions. First, your parents are going to South Africa. Do you think they would agree if you told them that you were going to study elsewhere, say New Zealand, and take on the identity of another student for your safety?"

"Oh!" cried Hermione after the moment. Several of the plans she and Harry had contemplated involved deceiving her parents, but it was still a surprise to hear an adult like the Headmaster suggesting them. "I could convince them. I'll just tell them that it would be safer for me to be in New Zealand under a different identity than in South Africa under my own. But I won't be in New Zealand, will I?"

"You appear to be more willing to pull the wool over your parents' eyes than I had expected," said Dumbledore, looking over his glasses.

Hermione was taken aback. "Is this a trick, then?" She folded her arms defiantly. "I spent three years deceiving the entire school."

"Forgive me," he replied, "I did not mean to sound judgemental. I was merely surprised. And deceiving a mass of nameless people is easier, in a way, than deceiving those closest to you."

"Yes, but Harry is closest to me. My parents will come around. They are in a state of shock."

"I see," he said. Then he smiled and his eyes twinkled. "Permit me continue then. To answer your question - no, you would be in Hogwarts, not New Zealand. Tell me, were you aware that Professor McGonagall was married, and had a granddaughter?"

"No!" said Hermione, shocked. The idea of her stoic Transfigurations Professor not being an old maid was rather surprising to her fifteen-year old mind.

"Students do have a tendency to think of their teachers as people without a life," sighed the Headmaster. "Nevertheless, Minerva McGonagall was quite the extrovert when she was young. Younger, I mean. The death of her second husband hit her quite badly. She had two daughters, and the younger had a daughter called Noleen Harris who is a fifth year student in New Zealand. I believe I can convince her, with Minerva's help, to play her part by collaborating with you long-distance to send letters to your parents from New Zealand. She will write to you with bits of news, and you can write it in your own style to send it to your parents. And since they will think you are undercover, they will not be able to pay surprise visits to you in New Zealand. Should they want to visit, we can always arrange for an international Portkey."

Hermione's mind was spinning. "And where will I be?" she asked.

"You will, should you accept this proposal, be teaching the first to fourth years at Hogwarts."

Hermione spluttered. The Headmaster smiled. He had a hidden camera taking pictures of Hermione at that moment; perhaps Blaise Zabini would agree to a picture swap.

"You see, Professor McGonagall will be unable to take the position of Transfiguration Professor until next year as she needs time to recover. I plan to take over the teaching of the fifth to seventh year students until a suitable temporary replacement is found. This leaves the teaching of the first to fourth years to someone else. You would pose as an older witch, a recent graduate of ..."

* * *

"This is all very elaborate," said Lily Evans. "You're going to pretend to impersonate person A while you impersonate person B. The real Person A will not get impersonated by anyone, but will help you write letters home to deceive your parents. The real person B does not exist. Not bad. Albus can think when he has to after all. I doubt Voldemort will expect this."

Lily was in her DADA classroom with Harry and Hermione. The teen witch had just explained Dumbledore's scheme to deceive her parents into thinking she was away from Harry.

"It's rather terrifying," said Harry after several more moments of silence. "My girlfriend's going to be teaching me. And giving me homework."

"And detentions," added his mother with a laugh. Harry paled.

"Not if you behave yourself I won't," said Hermione with an evil grin.

"I wonder what kind of tasks he would have to perform during detentions," mused Lily.

"Oy Mum!" shouted Harry, red-faced. He suddenly remembered to conjure a bar of soap, and Lily laughed. It was a much bigger laugh than she normally had, and the two children began to get worried when she didn't stop laughing. Lily finally saw the looks on their faces and began to calm down.

"Sorry," she said and paused to giggle again. "It's just everything catching up to me. Remus, Severus, ... I - I - argh!" She pulled herself together. "Say, I've been meaning to ask, what's with this new Slytherin fashion statement? I saw a bunch of Seventh Year Slytherin students who were staying over the hols and a couple had that S on their cheek."

"That's odd," Harry said. "I really have no idea about it."

"Professor Vanescu - er - Evans," asked Hermione hesitantly. "I don't mean to pry, but I am curious. The Headmaster seems to be going through an awful lot of trouble to let me stay at Hogwarts. Do you happen to know why?"

"Call me Crina," replied Lily. "Or Lily if no-one else is around. To answer your question, let's just say that the Headmaster and I had a little _talk_."

Hermione looked at Lily, who whistled in that innocent manner traditionally associated with guilty parties.

"Thanks, Mum," said Harry genuinely.

"Consider it partial make-up for eight years, Harry," she replied. "Now, Hermione. Are you sure you'll be able to manage teaching and preparing for your OWLs?"

Hermione looked sad. "I'm not going for a record number of OWLs any more. I wanted to, but the Headmaster convinced me otherwise. So I'll just be taking OWLs in Transfiguration, DADA, Charms, Potions, and Arithmancy. No more Ancient Runes, Astronomy, History of Magic or Muggle Studies."

"Muggle Studies" asked Harry.

"Harry," said Hermione condescendingly. "How could I possibly not get an O in Muggle Studies?"

"But that's my point!" he cried. "You aren't taking Muggle Studies. You were just planning to write the exam. So why not take the exam anyway? Not that there is anything in there that you don't already know..."

"Ah," said Hermione as she turned pink.

"I didn't know you could drop Ancient Runes though," he said. "And isn't it compulsory to do History of Magic?"

"Not if you become an Apprentice," she replied. "And I'm going to be jointly apprenticed as a Transfigurator to both McGonagall and Dumbledore. Isn't that marvellous?"

"Wow!" said Harry. He knew this was highly unusual, especially since he wanted to become an Apprentice himself later on. "Wait. Give me a moment. I need to be jealous." He counted to ten so they could hear him. "There. I'm done. Congratulations!" He gave her a big hug.

However, she still looked crestfallen. "Harry, are you sure this is alright with you?"

"I'll get over it," he replied. "I am very happy for you, honest! But ..."

"Perhaps I can explain," said Lily, stepping in. "Both of you have been classroom rivals ever since you came here, right? But right now you, Hermione, have just got one - many ones - up on Harry. If he was in your shoes, wouldn't you feel both happy and envious?"

"Yes," she admitted. "But I'll give it up if ..."

"Don't you dare!" said Harry. "That's the last thing I want. I'll get an apprenticeship eventually. When all this You Know Who shit is over." He gave Hermione a hug again, and she pressed her head into his shoulders. "I am very, very proud of you, and nothing can please me more than you being the best Hermione Granger there ever was."

Lily smiled, and wondered if offing a Dark Lord counted as a DADA apprenticeship. She'd have to check the regulations for that. It probably didn't. And perhaps that was best. Apprenticeships and Saving The World were two separate things.

* * *

The next day, Hermione left with her parents for South Africa using a Portkey to Heathrow. They could have taken an International Portkey, but the Grangers would have to deal with Muggle customs and immigration authorities.

Her bags were packed with Professor McGonagall's course outlines and notes for the first to fourth year students and Harry had been quite amused at her panicked scurrying and ranting about how on earth she was supposed to teach anyone, let alone her former classmates.

She would stay with her parents for three days before 'leaving for New Zealand to assume the identity of Noleen Harris'.

The first Grangerless day went slowly.

Harry wished, in retrospect, that the second Grangerless day had gone slowly as well. Instead he received an Owl with a most unwelcome message.

_Dear Mr Harry Potter, _

_My name is Anya Zabini. I am the aunt of Blaise Zabini. He would be writing this right now, but he is too distraught to write anything. His mother, who is my sister, and her husband were killed last night by Aurors on a raid. I know you are a friend of his, and would like to know if you are willing to come to our house to be with him. He needs you, and any friends of his who are with you at the moment. _

_Our Floo connection is open to anyone who bears this letter. _

_Anya Zabini _

* * *

"This makes no sense," said Lily. She was in the Headmaster's office with Harry. He had brought the letter to her and she had suggested they inform the Headmaster of it before he left. "The Zabinis have been neutral for generations! Why would the Aurors raid them?"

"I heard about this from my Ministry sources a few minutes ago," said the Headmaster, his eyes absent of twinkle. "It was done by the direct order of Minister Fudge. Their deaths were said to be accidental."

After discussing the raid for a few more minutes, Harry asked if he could use the Headmaster's fireplace to go to Blaise's place.

"Certainly," said the Headmaster. "Please ask them if I can send a representative to see them as well. I am highly uneasy with this development and do not know what the Minister was thinking. I fear much damage control will be in order."

"A vampire representative, Professor?" asked Harry.

"That was my first thought," replied Dumbledore with a glance at Lily. She nodded.

"I'll ask them," replied Harry with a small smile before he stepped into the fireplace.

* * *

Harry Potter considered fireplaces the bane of his existence. After Voldemort (recently), Paul Potter, this Citrina Harrap person, Draco Malfoy, James Potter, and the youngest Weasleys. He had once spent an entire afternoon with a cheap supply of Floo powder he had 'borrowed' from the Potter basement to travel between fireplaces of the Potter mansion in an effort to improve his landings.

It hadn't worked. Every time, every single damn time, he would emerge from the fireplace an airborne mass of flailing arms and legs. He had even set up a timed wizarding camera to take a photograph of his arrival. The only insight it had offered was an explanation of why people laughed so hard when he used the Floo.

He had destroyed the photographs rather quickly.

He was currently kissing the floor of the Zabini's Floo Entrance room. Getting up quickly, he was singularly grateful that the room was empty. He figured that an alert had gone off somewhere in the Zabini Mansion and that someone would be here to find him shortly.

Harry had never been to the Zabinis' home before. They were an old matriarchal Pureblood family - any men who married into the family took the Zabini name. Blaise had often joked to him, particularly in their third year, that the best way for Harry to lose his despised family name of Potter was to marry a Zabini.

He was just considering the possibility of using his Animagus form to exit Floos more gracefully (if he could transform while he was in mid-air and hover and land and transform back...) when the door opened.

He recognized the woman from one of Blaise's photographs. At least, he thought he did. The photo had her wearing pink hair, green skin, and a murderous look. The Art of Pranking, Blaise always maintained, began at home.

"Harry Potter?" He nodded in response. "Thank you for coming," said the woman. "I am Anya Zabini. I will take you to see Blaise at once." She paused. "I see you have that mark on your cheek as well."

"Blaise has this?" Harry asked, surprised. "I got it a few days ago. It just - appeared."

"He said the same thing," she replied evenly. Harry thought she hadn't believed Blaise at the time. He could hardly blame her.

"Thank you for bringing me here. Blaise is a good friend."

Anya looked at him. She was completely dressed in black, and this happened to match her raven hair and dark eyes. Harry wondered if she wore this all the time - she could certainly pull it off - or whether she was just wearing them for the mourning period. He kicked himself inwardly - those were not the most appropriate thoughts given the time.

"... girlfriend." Apparently Anya had been talking while Harry had been contemplating sartorial matters.

"I apologize, Madam Zabini," he said. "My mind was adrift. Could you repeat that, please?"

She sniffed. "Do work on your hearing, Mr Potter. I wondered where your girlfriend was. Miss Granger, I believe? She is also a friend of Blaise, is she not?"

"She would be here if she could, Madam Zabini. As would our other friends, if they were in Hogwarts. But Hermione is in South Africa right now since her parents pulled her out of Hogwarts."

She paused imperceptibly. "Damn Muggles." Harry was surprised - he didn't realize Blaise had told his relatives that his friend's girlfriend was Muggleborn. Then again, such a relationship was _news_, and letters home had to be filled somehow.

"We were captured by You Know Who just before Yule," Harry explained. "Her parents watched a Polyjuiced version of her get tortured, raped and killed. Then they were told she was Polyjuiced. I find it difficult to blame them for thinking that her proximity to me places her in danger."

Anya stopped and looked at him. "That does make a difference," she said after a while. "My apologies. I hope the two of you work something out. Blaise said you were good together." She paused. "But that could not have been You Know Who. He would never have left prisoners."

"Professor Vanescu rescued us," Harry answered. "Our DADA teacher." He did not wish to give further details yet. The look on her face suggested that she realized that but would let it go for now. He wondered how large the house was, seeing as they had not got to Blaise's room yet.

"The vampire?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "And Professor Dumbledore asked me to ask you if she - or some other Professor if you have any objections to her kind - could come here to talk to you. He offers his personal condolences. He also apologizes for having to be interested in the political ramifications of this incident. He said the order to send the Aurors came directly from the Ministry and he had only heard of it this morning. Possibly not an hour ago - I did not ask. Nevertheless, he would have strenuously opposed it. He spoke in terms of damage control."

Anya had given up all pretence of walking to Blaise's room now. Harry was beginning to suspect she had deliberately taken the scenic route.

"I will send him a message at once. Of course we have no objection to vampires, providing they do not dine on us without our permission. Albus Dumbledore's words are reassuring, as we cannot understand why we would be singled out for a raid. We have maintained a proud tradition of neutrality for generations."

She sighed. "Follow." She began walking again and left him at a door after about a minute. It had Blaise's name on it in fine Gothic print. "He's in there. If you need anything, clap your hands and shout 'Elf'."

"Thank you, Madam Zabini," he said with a bow. She nodded and left. He knocked on the door. Three times, quickly, in succession.

"Blaise? Open up. It's Harry."

* * *

_A/N: The next chapter, should it choose to exist, will have the Ministry attacking Slytherins. There's a new plot on the yahoo group, and if there isn't, there will be. _

_I would be curious to know if readers find the machinations to keep Hermione at Hogwarts overly elaborate. I don't think they are. And she'll be using a glamour, not Polyjuice. _


	13. The Mark of Serpentinus

_A/N: Been catching up on my reading (yeah yeah, I can read) of the H/G vs H/Hr thing. The only conclusion I've come to is this: does it matter what Rowling thinks? _

_There are probably a hundred saga-length fanfics out there, of which ten are as good as, or arguably better written than, canon. Like lightningonthewave's Sacrifices Arc, RobinLady's Unbroken Universe. And Terion's Not Myself series if it ever got Betaed :) But the only one I know I know of that's H/Hr is Ebony's Paradise Series. I'm not counting Barb's Psychic Serpent series because that ends up with a ship (H/G) that is therefore immoral, blasphemous, a violation of the Geneva convention, HBPish, etc. (Insert standard disclaimer here that says that the preceding statement should not be taken too seriously, even if the author meant it.) Which brings up the following point: what other well written saga-length (i.e. at least 750 000 words or at least three novels) H/Hr series? Note: 75 000 is not 750 000. JKR's OOTP has 250 000 words. _

_This story remains firmly on hiatus. If you want to make any hiatus jokes, go suck a blood pop ;) _

_One reviewer described this fic as 'hokey'. I quite agree. I'd even add the word 'pokey' to that assessment. Chapters 5 to 8 were better than chapters 9 to 12. _

* * *

Harry returned to Hogwarts from Blaise's house in a contemplative mood. He headed straight for the teachers' quarters where his mother lived. She was taking a nap, hanging by her feet from the ceiling. 

"Show-off," he muttered with a scowl as he looked up to see her upside down face. "Just because you don't have to worry about all the blood running to your brain."

She smirked and swooped down to give his forehead a kiss. "You're so easy to tease."

"What?" he asked.

"Go ask your girlfriend about it," Lily said with a theatrical yawn. "Vampires _never_ sleep upside down - it's not good for our lower backs. As soon as I heard your footsteps I got into this position. I've been doing it the last couple of days and got tired of waiting for you to notice."

Harry glowered at her. She tossed him a teabag, conjured some hot water, and began to whistle a perfectly annoying Romanian ditty. Harry groaned, but was inwardly relieved - his mother was almost back to normal now. She had been feeling much better ever since Pomfrey and had announced that, thanks to the medical expertise of some of Remus Lupin's pack, their favourite werewolf was now out of danger.

"How's Blaise?" she asked as he fixed himself a cuppa.

Harry paused. "He's still in shock. He'll be angry tomorrow. He's not a fan of the Ministry at the moment. Katie's over there now, though." Harry took a deep breath and shook his head. "Have you found out anything?"

Lily sighed. "Things do not look good. Fudge has a cohort of Aurors who are loyal to him. There is a technicality that allows him to create one that Bones doesn't have control over. They carried out the raid claiming to search for Dark Artifacts in the Zabini Manor. I'm sure they exist - even the Potter Manor has Dark Artifacts - so it was just an excuse. They went in there to kill a prominent Zabini."

"WHAT?" yelled Harry. "But that's stupid? Are they trying to drive all Slytherins into Voldemort's hands?"

"They've done it with werewolves and vampires," she said sadly.

Harry looked at his mother. "Mum? What about you?" Suddenly aware of how his question might sound, he quickly moved to clarify it. "I don't mean joining the Death Eaters..."

Lily looked embarassed. "I had meant to tell you this earlier, Harry, but - look, there's a chance that I might be forced out of Hogwarts soon. Possibly even before term begins."

"WHAT?" cried Harry. "But you're the best teacher we've ever had! Better than Quirrell, than Goldilockheart and Eggface!"

"Professors Lockheart and Egfred?"

"They weren't any more professors than I'm a Gryffindor," countered Harry. "Quirrel and Eggface would dive under the table whenever someone asked a question, and don't get me started on Gildy..." He mused for a moment. "He was quite a revelation - I never knew someone's ego could be bigger than that of Paul and Draco Malfoy combined."

Lily smiled.

"Sorry," said Harry. "I digress. Why would you be forced out?"

"You're asking the wrong question, son. You should be wondering why I was allowed to teach in the first place."

"We did wonder about that. There are some quite entertaining theories floating around. About a third of with have you romantically involved with the Headmaster."

"Ick." Lily made a face. "I'd be more likely to have an affair with Fawkes. I take it that the set of rumours you are referring to are separate from those who have me having an affair with an underage student with a hairstyle deficiency?"

"Yeah," muttered Harry. "Why on earth doesn't the Headmaster make an announcement that you're Lily Evans?"

"You mean your friends haven't been spreading rumours that I'm your long lost mother?"

"There's no way that would gain any traction," said Harry. "It's too ridiculous to even gossip about. Imagine! The mother of Paul Potter, of the Boy Who Lived, is a vampire! Naw, it's much easier to believe we're screwing each other's brains out. Ick. I should use Hermione's Time Turner and send Oedipus a sympathy card."

"Hermione has a Time Turner?" asked Lily, shocked.

"She used to, in Third Year. Idiot girl wanted to take all classes at once, and Professor Miaow somehow got one for her. We had some fun times with it before she had to give it back."

"She could use it right now," mused Lily. "She doesn't have much time to prepare for her classes. Especially teaching you lot. Perhaps Albus gave it back to her."

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "Pity we didn't know about Sprout pinching my haemoglobin within twenty four hours of that happening. Then we could have stopped it."

"Indeed. Not that I'd like to deal with all the resulting paradoxes." She suddenly realized something else. "Say, where did you learn about haemoglobin?"

"Hermione's parents' books. She'd send them to me over the summer holidays when I told her that I wanted to learn some Muggle science and history."

"Oh?" Lily asked, curious.

"Well, you were gone," said Harry sheepishly. "And you were Muggle-born and I wanted to connect with you in some way..."

Lily's arms and wings enveloped him in a hug. "That's very sweet of you, Harry."

"Your wings tickle, Mum," he said in typical male teenager embarassment. Not that he was making any serious efforts to get out of the embrace.

"That's why us bloodsuckers have wings, didn't you know?"

"Were you always like this? This wretched sense of humour and all."

"Nope," Lily replied. "It's all new. Vampires don't have much to do, you know. It's all find prey, drink blood, change channels on the telly, drink blood, dance in nightclubs to find prey, drink blood, do crossword puzzles, sing bad karaoke, drink blood. Boring stuff. So we take humour to an art form while we aren't relieving mortals of excess moisture." She paused, and then whispered conspiratorially, "I know tons of werewolf jokes. Listen to this: A werewolf, a mortal, and a vampire walk into a Japanese woodcuts factory..." "

"Merlin!" he cried, holding his ears. "You've been sucking on the Headmaster's dragon blood pops again, haven't you?"

"Philistine." Her face turned serious. "Now, let's try to get this conversation back on track. _Again_."

"You make it sound like its my fault."

The vampire glared at her mortal son. He gulped.

"Ah. Right, mum. It was my fault, of course. We were talking about - er - what were we talking about?"

"How I got my job here. This is a bit of a story, so no interruptions. There are regulations in the Ministry that werewolves from taking up employment in any business that has children. The regulations for vampires are similar, but different because we've been more organized. I'm not getting paid by Hogwarts anything more than room and board, which means that the Ministry has no authority over me. Of course, that leaves the Hogwarts Board of Governors and public opinion."

She walked to the cupboard and poured out half a glassful of old mead into a wine class, followed by a vial's worth of blood from a Muggle thermos flask. After stirring it with a steel spatula, she sipped the scarlet concoction before continuing.

"The Hogwarts Board is controlled by Lucius Malfoy. He thinks he owes me a life debt. Remus and I - mostly Remus - plotted an attack on him for six months. It worked very well. Remus almost bit him one full moon - he was on Wolfsbane but Malfoy didn't know it - and I came in just in time to 'save' him. The Malfoys, for all their faults, do honour life debts."

She looked at Harry's shocked face over her wine glass as she sipped from it.

"Wow!"

"You should thank Remus. I was really depressed then. I had given up all hope of seeing you and Paul."

"I will," said Harry, still stunned. "So - Malfoy said he would prevent the Board from objecting to you in exchange for the life debt?"

"Exactly," she said. "And he also stopped the Daily Prophet from printing anything too openly against me. There were still heaps of letters from parents, but Dumbledore ignored them. My qualifications are pretty good, after all."

"Oh." Harry couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. "That's a tale. I can tell Hermione this, right?"

"Sure. It's only Highly Classified." She grinned, making sure that her fangs protruded. "No-one else, though."

She drowned the last dregs of her drink before smashing the glass against the floor.

Harry jumped.

The glass bounced.

Cursing under her breath, she removed the Unbreakable charm on the wine glass, picked it up, and threw it down again. This time, it made a most satisfying shattering noise.

"And that is precisely the problem," she said as she cast _Reparo_. "By now, Lucius will be aware that I am Lily Evans. He knows Remus Lupin is a werewolf and was a friend of Lily Evans, and it will not take him much work to determine that we are still friends and that Remus was in the area around the time of the attack and could have been the werewolf that attacked him. It will be enough to convince him that he does not owe me a life debt."

"Oh," said Harry sadly. "Do you really think he knows? Did the fake Professor McGonagall know?"

"Hermione said that you and her told Ginny Weasley about it to try and tell Paul. Ginny was acting as an informant for McGonagall. Of course, she didn't know about the impersonation."

"Damn!" said Harry, angry with himself. "If only I hadn't tried to be diplomatic and just told Paul directly! Ginny didn't even help!"

"Don't worry too much about it. I've got my sons back. My mission here is complete. Even if they toss me out of Hogwarts, I'm not leaving you alone again."

* * *

Paul Potter's December holidays were different this year. The Yule Ball had gone well, and Ginny's attentions after the Ball had gone even better. Watching his brother uncomfortably dance with Padma Patil - both their unemotionless masks revealing that they had preferred dates - had been entertaining. Ginny had particularly enjoyed asking loud questions about where the Gryffindor Bookworm was. 

It was the first time Paul had spent the holidays without Harry. Strangely enough, it had felt different. Harry had always been a silent non-entity. But now that his brother had suddenly burst from his shell, Paul had found himself looking forward to having him around, if only for interrogative purposes. James and Sirius would be able to pump him for information, to find out exactly what he had been up to. No-one ever changed attitudes that quickly. He thought so, Ginny thought so, and Ron thought so.

But then Harry had gone and spent time with Hermione's parents and suddenly Paul wasn't sure any more. Slytherin wizards stringing along naive library-dwellling Gryffindor witches did not meet the witch's parents.

The situation changed even more when he overheard his father and Sirius say that there had been an attack by vampires on the Grangers. He had only heard bits and pieces, but he learnt that vampires had attacked them, Harry had been hurt, and that Professor Vanescu had been present. A few days later he also heard that the Grangers had pulled Hermione out of Hogwarts.

He had mentioned all of this to Ron and Ginny. Both thought that Professor Vanescu was in league with the vampires. This made sense to him. Vanescu had obviously fooled the Headmaster and Harry (if he cared) into thinking she was Lily Evans. She had to be watched and evidence had to be gathered.

One of the first pieces of evidence had come with the Daily Prophet:

_**New Dark Group Springs Up!** _

_The Daily Prophet has received reports from sources within the Ministry that a new group of Dark wizards and witches have begun forming in Britain. _

_"The Aurors captured one of the members recently," said a high ranking official who did not wish to be named. "He said members of the group, which is called Serpentinus, can be identified by the mark of a snake coiled in the shape of an S on their cheeks. This mark is usually invisible, but can be seen on younger wizards or witches if not cast correctly." _

_The parallels between this, the Snake Mark, and the Dark Mark worn by You Know Who's death eaters are obvious. However, when confronted with these allegations by the Prophet, prominent Ministry officials refused to take immediate action. _

_"One of the pillars of wizarding law is Innocent Till Proven Guilty," said Amelia Bones, Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. "Bearing some unknown tattoo is no reason to suspect someone of wrongdoing, let alone sentence them to Azkaban." _

_Such an attitude seems highly counterproductive. It seems quite likely that Serpentinus members are in league with the vampires who killed ten Muggles two days before Yule and to the other associated attacks that have occurred recently. There are also rumours of werewolves within their ranks. _

_We at the Prophet believe that all young wizards and witches bearing such a mark should be taken in for interrogation. We do not want a repeat of the actions of He Who Must Not Be Named prior to his defeat by Paul Potter, the Boy Who Lived. _

Paul frowned. The most likely explanation was that Vanescu and her vampiric friends were involved with this Serpentinus Group, either as allies or as organizers, and that Harry was being recruited. That would explain why the two of them had been spending so much time together.

In fact, it was even possible that Harry had Harry was partially responsible for the attack on the Grangers. It made sense - Harry told the Serpentinus vampires where the Grangers lived and when he would be there, and they attacked. Of course, Harry would have to get some injuries to make it look realistic...

Paul was now very glad that the Grangers had pulled Hermione out of Hogwarts. The girl was an annoying menace, but she was a Gryffindor and now she had been saved from her own naivety.

Of course, Paul realized, this was all just a theory. He was not stupid enough to think that it could be true. It needed evidence. And in this case, necessary and sufficient evidence would be Harry having the Snake Mark.

* * *

Meanwhile, mother and (the other) son continued to bond at Hogwarts. Right now they were discussing the person Lily had destroyed - at the cost of her reconciled mother's life and one of her son's sense of decency - thirteen years previously. 

"Why are people scared to say the name Voldemort?" asked Harry.

"He used to have a spell on all of Britain that causes fear if you said his name," explained Crina. "He cast it in the mid 1970s but it stopped working after we got rid of him. If you said 'Voldemort', you would suddenly feel this immense sense of fear. Unless you were powerful like Albus, of course. That's how this whole You Know Who and He Who Must Not Be Nice stuff began. And the tradition hasn't died yet, since us old folks still remember what he did."

"Oh," said Harry. He seemed oddly excited. "How does it work?"

"It - wait a minute, why do you want to know?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well," Harry was more hesitant now, but they did have silencing wards around them like they always did. And it was his mother. Though she really felt more like an older sister, come to think of it... "I've wanted to cast a spell like that for ages. To stop people using the word Mudblood."

The vampire threw her white hair back and laughed. Harry chuckled as well, but then looked worried again when she kept on laughing. He coughed, and she managed to stifle her chuckling.

"Mum," he asked uncertainly. "You're not - er - pregnant or anything, are you? You've been very - er - emotional of late..."

She went into another five minute spasm of speechless giggles.

"Mum!" he cried, grabbing her cloak off the hat stand. He was surprised how heavy it was and marvelled once again at vampiric strength. "We're going to the Hospital Wing now! You need a check-up!"

If this was a ploy meant to encourage Lily Evans to produce more sedate behaviour, it was a miserable failure.

_"Finite Incantatem!"_

His attempt to remove any effects of a tickling jinx (placed by unknown and invisible and non-existent assailants) also produced the opposite effect, and tears would have been streaming down Lily's face if she had any working tear ducts to produce them with.

"Shut up, Harry," said Lily between gasps. They were walking through the castle now, Harry having forced her to place an arm around his neck in an effort to support her. "It's just - so - hic! - droll - a spell to stop them calling us Mudbloods - hic! Remus would love it, we should go tell him!"

She managed to conjure herself some water to cure her recently acquired hiccups, even if it was by pointing her wand to her mouth and silently casting _Aguamenti_.

"Er," said Harry. He had decided, at long last, that silence might be a more optimal policy in their current circumstance.

"Sorry Harry," she finally managed to say. "It's just that - that spell is a powerful form of Dark Magic. I had this image of Voldemort casting a spell so that anyone who said Mudblood would be scared..." She drifted off into land of side-splitting stitches.

After a moment, Harry joined her. But not for too long because, Dark Magic or not, it still seemed like a good idea.

"Thanks for bringing us here though," she said, noting their arrival at the Hospital Wing. "Good timing. Visiting hours are about to start."

Deciding to risk the wrath of Portia Pomfrey, they entered the Hospital Wing. Remus Lupin was awake, and greeted them with a wan smile. Surprisingly, Albus Dumbledore was also present.

"Ah!" said the Headmaster brightly. "Lily. Harry. Do come in." He looked around conspiratorially. "Poppy's gone to St Mungo's to pick up something just now, so it is safe."

Lily laughed and thanked him. Harry smiled briefly and nodded before turning his attention to the werewolf.

Remus Lupin was still levitated off the bed and covered with salves but his eyes were full of life. His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse but adequately clear.

"Hello Crina," he said, "Hello Harry. How have you been doing, Harry?"

"I should be asking you that question," replied Harry. "I was only here overnight."

"I'll be alright." Remus smiled, and Harry noticed that he was already holding his mother's hand. The teen made a note to interrogate his mother about that later. Even if nothing was going on, it would make for a fair amount of teasing material.

After a couple of minutes of pleasantries, the Headmaster coughed.

"I am sorry to have to break this up," said Dumbledore. "But I'm afraid I have bad news."

Lily glanced at Harry.

"Lucius Malfoy has informed me of a rather fascinating stunt the two of you pulled to get him to permit Lily's stay here. I, of course, having no knowledge of the details of such a stunt, was quite shocked and alarmed to hear of its details."

Remus snickered. Lily, after a mercifully short laugh, explained to Harry that the Headmaster was fully aware of the existence of the 'stunt', but had ordered them earlier _not_ to tell him about its details. Plausible deniability was a wonderful thing when it worked in your favour.

"I believe it will be only a matter of hours until I receive a notice from the Board, and probably an article in the Daily Prophet, about how such an upstanding member of society was hoodwinked by two Dark creatures into aiding a senile old wizard in his demented idea of allowing a vampire to teach vulnerable schoolchildren. Or something of that ilk."

Lily nodded. "I shall resign immediately, Headmaster. Have the Ministry accepted the return of You Know Who?"

Harry was horrified, but said nothing. It was, as usual, all happening too quickly. It was a good thing she had warned him, even if it was still very short notice.

"No," replied Dumbledore. "The statement in today's Prophet is an accurate statement of Ministry views. They are going to blame everything on this Serpentinus group."

Remus and Lily turned to look at Harry. He fingered his cheek in response and shrugged.

"I have made a list of students that I am aware of who have this mark," said Dumbledore, taking out a parchment and putting on his reading glasses to read them. "Harry Potter. Nicola Edgeworthy. Millicent Bulstrode. Anastasia McKenna. Ian Rush. John Barnes. Doubtless there will be other names."

"They are all Slytherins," said Harry, shocked. "And add Blaise Zabini to that list. But they are not all staying here over the hols, so how do you know?"

"Some of them Owled Professor Snape about it," Dumbledore answered. "Since he is no longer with us, the letters were redirected to me. Considering that the Headmaster becomes acting Head of House till a replacement is found, I was authorized to read them. It turns out that the students who wrote to Professor Snape about their newly acquired marks were quite worried about it, particularly when today's Prophet appeared."

"Is there any pattern you can discern, Harry?" asked the Headmaster seriously.

"Well," replied the teen, "they're mostly neutrals. Rush and McKenna do hang out with Bole's group, but they aren't as rabid Pureblood bigots as he is. I don't know about Barnes."

"That is unfortunate," mused Dumbledore. "I was afraid of this. Would you say that all of them would need some convincing to join Voldemort if he tried to recruit them?"

"I don't know about Rush and Barnes, but certainly the rest."

"I thought," said Lily, looking over the Headmaster's shoulder at his list, "that there were more neutrally inclined Slytherins staying around Hogwarts now than the names here. Daphne Greengrass and Mark Ruddock seemed quite neutral. I saw them this morning and they have no mark."

All eyes turned to Harry again. And suddenly, he realized the other connection.

"Daphne and Mark aren't very powerful. They're close to squibs. I don't know about Edgeworthy, but everyone else can cast a good stunner."

"You're saying that the marks are targeting powerful and neutral Slytherins?" asked Remus. "Merlin! You're being set up!"

* * *

_A/N: Merlin! This chapter was a ruddy ol' crock. If the best bit is Lily turning into quite the Tonksish character, then the rest is ... oh well. At least we get more reasons to chuck rotten tomatoes at Paul now.  
_


	14. New Teachers

_A/N: A shorter chapter than usual, but there's lots of information in it. _

_The plural of hiatus is hiatii. If you disagree with this, you're capable of Googling and also no fun. (Pooh, bah, humbug, etc.) _

_Other recent discoveries: Portkey readers now review more than ffdotnet readers. Statistics may be skewed by the fact that some of the most faithful reviewers are following this story on both sites, and because chapter alerts on ffdotnet (where there are now 179 on this story plus 56 author alerts) have been dead for the past few days. _

* * *

"The Beauxbatons Board and the French Ministry are both extremely worried, Albus," rumbled Madame Maxime with a resigned look to the other two School Heads in the room. The only other occupant of the secluded portrait-less Hogwarts room was the Goblet of Fire. Its flames were silent. 

Albus Dumbledore sighed. "What is the reaction at Durmstrang, Josef?"

Josef Ivanauskas had replaced Igor Karkaroff when the former Durmstrang Headmaster had failed to put in an appearance for two weeks and had been suspended by the Durmstrang authorities as a result. Josef was a charming playboy who was the youngest son of a well known Lithuanian Dark family who had supported Grindelwald and the pre-1981 Lord Voldemort.

"Excited, of course," said Josef brightly. His accent today was Australian. "Us Darkies were delighted to hear Albus say that You Know Who was back." He nodded to the British wizard. "We're still skeptical, of course, and think it might be one of your tricks. In either case, the Durmstrang contingent will be happy to stay and watch everything going off."

Olympe Maxime glared at him. "I wish I knew whose side you were on, Ivanauskas."

"Oh, don't mind me, Maxie darling," replied the young wizard as he examined the Goblet of Fire. "I'm supporting _everyone_. I'm merely the audience. And audiences _love_ a good play."

Albus Dumbledore had very few people on his Cannot Be Figured Out list. Josef Ivanauskas was quickly rising to the top of it. His information was always correct but with plenty of room for lies of omission. Aberforth had described him as the kind of person you could trust about as far as a beheaded chicken could spit. (Admittedly, the older Dumbledore had been still been in the throes of waking up at the time.) Albus himself thought of Josef as the kind of person who would bring popcorn to a battle and would intermittently ask various combatants if they could repeat their last move since he had been watching someone else.

As if to prove that point, the youngest Head conjured a packet of greasy chips and asked his companions if they wanted any ("Either of you codgers want any brekkie?"). Maxime looked away in disgust. Dumbledore, with a sudden spark of understanding, silently resolved to keep his lemon drops to himself in future. Josef smirked and continued dividing his attentions between the chips and Goblet.

"Quite frankly, I agree with young Potter on this one," said Madame Maxime. "We should destroy the Goblet. This Tournament is worth nothing compared to the life of my students. If the Flight of Death has returned, my students are not safe. Neither are yours, of course, but I am responsible for mine."

"I am also highly concerned, Olympe," said Albus. He had told her, but not Ivanauskas, earlier of Minerva's impersonation. She had not been impressed, but had agreed to keep the impersonation secret. It would not be good if it was generally known that Albus Dumbledore had let a Death Eater run around Hogwarts for three months without his knowledge. He would be declared as senile and thrown out of the school as a result. And that was something they could ill afford right now.

"Stop knocking each other for a moment," said Ivanauskas suddenly from his spot near the object in question. "We cannot destroy the Goblet."

Maxime's huge body jerked in surprise. Albus merely turned a head sharply to their junior colleague.

"Please explain, Josef," asked Dumbledore.

The younger wizard motioned to them to join him. His voice was oddly serious.

"My mother is an amateur art historian. I read lots of her books when I was a littlun since they had nice pictures. I know what the Goblet of Fire looks like. And _this_," he said, pointing to the cup, "is _not_ the Goblet of Fire. See these markings here?"

"What markings?" asked Maxime, peering closely through her glasses.

"Exactly. There should be markings there, but there aren't. This Goblet ain't fair dinkum. It's a bleeding substitute!"

Albus Dumbledore conjured a chair and sat on it heavily. Josef, in an odd gesture of concern, found a bottle of firewhiskey in his robes and handed it to the Briton. Albus nodded in gratitude and downed the grog. Maxime already had her own smelling salts out.

* * *

Lord Voldemort sat at an elegant table with two vampires. Both were tall and beautiful, as would befit the heads of the Impali clan. Lord Vladimir Impali had silver hair. His mate, Lady Nicola Impali, had black hair. Voldemort figured they were both due to colour changing charms but thought nothing further of it. 

"Splitongus?" queried Vladimir as his wife made her move. "You're joking! What's that supposed to do?"

"It's worth twenty seven points," stated Voldemort blandly, watching the scoreboard update itself. "That puts you in the lead, Nicola."

"It's a Canadian Dark spell," explained Lady Impali. "Hence the English etymological origins. It rips your tongue in half, lengthwise. Quite fun, really."

"Yes, it is," agreed Voldemort. "Though I prefer the Argentinian version. It also fills the victim's mouth with salt immediately afterwards."

Lord Impali grimaced. "Damn. I hate playing Scrabble with you two."

Nicola laughed. Spell Scrabble was one of her favourite games. It had several flavours; the one they were playing right now involved the creation of words that were spells. You could only place letters on the board that made up all, or part of, the incantation of a spell in some country. (One of the simpler versions had been turned into a Muggle game half a century ago, but that was a triviality she didn't think about.)

"Considering that Vladimir will take twenty minutes for his next move," smirked Voldemort, "perhaps this is a good time to discuss our plans to eliminate Albus Dumbledore."

* * *

The witch who arrived in the Hogwarts Headmaster's fireplace was in her mid twenties. She had shoulder length raven hair, black shoes with half-inch-high heels, no evident makeup, and brown eyes that flitted around nervously. 

"Welcome, Miss O'Riordan," said Albus Dumbledore as she entered his office. "I am truly grateful you were able to join us on such short notice. The Hogwarts students will be very grateful."

The woman known as Niamh O'Riordan looked at her new employer oddly. This was not what she had expected. But when he gave the portraits in the room a surreptitious glance, she understood.

"I am honoured to be here, Professor Dumbledore," she replied. "This is an incredible opportunity for me."

"Excellent," replied the wizened wizard. He made a motion to offer her lemon drops, but remembered his resolution to avoid doing so. "Let us proceed immediately to the Hospital Wing. Your predecessor is still recovering there after her illness. She is most anxious to meet you."

The new Assistant Transfiguration Professor felt a sense of deja vu as she followed Dumbledore through the corridors of the old castle with both of them under a mobile silencing charm.

"How are your parents, Miss Granger? Or perhaps I can call you Hermione now?"

She nodded to the request, a little surprised that he had asked permission at all. "They were not pleased to see me leave for New Zealand, but accepted it. I think they'll allow me to write letters to Harry in a few months." She quickened her pace to keep up with him. The few day-long hikes she had spent with her parents and uncle's family around Cape Town had greatly improved her stamina so she didn't have to run after him every few steps. "Professor Dumbledore, ..."

"Albus," he said kindly. "Call me Albus. You're a teacher now. It would be suspicious if you spoke to me like a student."

She looked shocked for a moment, but was forced to agree with his logic. "Right, Al - Albus. If you don't mind my asking, what's wrong with your office? 'Hogwarts, A History' says that they are loyal to the Headmaster and can't give away any secrets."

"Not everything that is read can be believed, Hermione. In this case, I do believe the portraits are incapable of giving away secrets. But recent events have left me far more paranoid than I am used to, and I have not finished the wards on my office that will ensure that it is not free of any other recording devices, Magical or Muggle."

"Oh," she said. "I see. But you could have just cast this silencing charm there, could you not?"

"It's not actually a silencing charm," replied Dumbledore. "It's a spell called Muffliato. It was invented by our late Potions Master." He sighed. "I wish Lily had not had to kill him, but she had no choice. I wish that, had I been in the same position, I would have had the strength to do the same."

"You don't believe in euthanasia, sir?"

"I have trouble discerning where the threshold of no return is," he replied. "If there is such a threshold, it keeps moving. Tell me, how are your lesson preparations going? Did the little device I provided serve its purpose?"

They were halfway to the Hospital Wing now. Hermione figured Harry would be there as well, along with Lily, Remus, and Professor McGonagall.

"Yes, it did," she replied, referring to the Time Turner she had borrowed from him. "Thank you. I'm confident with the lessons for the first three years. The notes that Professor Mc - that Minerva provided were very good. But I'm not so confident about the fourth years."

"Would you like me to supervise a few classes?" asked Dumbledore. "I can justify it as part of you being a trainee teacher"

She looked at him in amazement. "I'd love that! But you're very busy, surely you wouldn't have the time..."

"You forget, Hermione, that I am a Headmaster in addition to my other responsibilities. I was the Transfiguration Professor before Minerva and have a vested interest in making sure her replacement isn't out in the deep end without a floating charm."

Hermione said nothing, but nodded gratefully. They were almost at the Hospital Wing when she asked him about the new staffing arrangements.

"I do not recall a time when there has been more turnover," he admitted. "We have new teachers for Transfiguration, History of Magic, Muggle Studies, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts,..."

"DADA!" cried Hermione. "What about Professor Vanescu?"

"That is a long story," he replied. "Much has happened while you were away. Vampire attacks, like that on your own family, have made it very difficult for me to keep her here, as well as other reasons that Harry will doubtless explain to you. She has resigned."

"Oh," said Hermione sadly. "That's too bad. She's very good. We learnt stuff this year."

"Indeed it is," he answered. "Fortunately, I have a replacement, despite the short notice. I am certain your former classmates will learn from the new DADA professor. He is a retired Auror with a formidale reputation. Have you ever heard of Mad Eye Moody?"

"Moody!" she exclaimed. "The Auror who captured six Death Eaters by enchanting a field of corn into clinging cacti?"

"Yes," chucked Dumbledore. "_That_ Alastor Moody. And don't worry, I am checking every new and old member of staff for impersonation. We will not have a repeat of Citrina Harrap. With the exception of the witch next to me, of course. Now, here we are at the Hospital Wing, where a young Slytherin student eagerly awaits your arrival."

* * *

"Greetings, Lucius," said Lord Voldemort. "How are the plans for Azkaban proceeding?" 

The proud figure of Lucius Malfoy barely managed to unsteadily pick itself off the floor. His master had decided that a Cruciatus before every meeting was the right treatment for all Death Eaters who used the Imperius Curse excuse to deny their loyalty to him a dozen years ago.

"They are," he wheezed. "They proceed adequately, my Lord. The Dementors have agreed, as if they would consider otherwise, to meet you. Your plans for next week will be followed."

* * *

The two men looked at the shot glasses in front of them. They had each gone through several rounds of firewhiskey and sobering charms and potions, and it had helped with numbing their feelings. 

"She's - she's right," slurred James Potter. "I was a fool."

Sirius Black downed another vial of sobering potion before applying another sobering charm on his friend.

"Look mate," said the black haired Auror. "You know that you and Lily were finished even before the whole Italian trip. The only thing keeping the two of you together was the boys. Now shut up. She may never warm your bed again, but she still deserves our friendship. Or at least respect, since she'll never be friends with us again."

"Yeah," replied the bespectacled Ministry official, getting used to his recently acquired sobriety. "And Harry never wants to speak to me again."

"What happened with Harry anyway?" asked Sirius. "I know you said he was an Animagus and all that, but how did we ever not notice?"

James shrugged and downed another shot of fire whiskey. "I don't really want to think about that. I fucked up."

Sirius sighed and changed topic. "Dumbledore's getting the Order together again. The first meeting's on Friday. What do you think of it?" He suddenly remembered where they were and hurriedly cast several silencing charms.

"By 'it' you mean You Know Who coming back, right?"

"Yes. And this Serpentinus group," answered Sirius. "Most of us think it's a load of Thestral dung. If it's from Fudge's bloody arse-lickers, it has to be. What do your folks think?"

"We're mostly denying his return," replied James, referring to the members of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. "And let's face it, the only evidence there for it is Dumbledore's word for it. Plus he's claiming the resurrection was with _Harry's_ blood! I keep getting asked if Harry is Paul's cousin or something!"

Sirius raised an eyebrow but said nothing judgemental.

"If it wasn't for what I know about Albus," James continued, "I wouldn't believe it either. You Know Who has hardly done any attacks since he arose - it's all been vampires or isolated attacks on Muggles. Not that I condone that, of course, it's just nothing compared to fifteen years ago, remember?"

Sirius grunted. He remembered quite well, thank you very much. "We should be comparing it to thirty years ago, not fifteen. He's starting from near scratch. He could be trying to keep a low profile as he builds up his strength."

James nodded. It _is_ like at the very beginning. You've got a point there. But that's not very good for convincing hard headed diplomats who don't want to answer questions from the Dutch or Patagonian Ministries about whether Britain has a Dark Lord running about again."

They stared at the table again. Sirius decided to change the subject again. "What do you think about Moony?"

"Moony?" asked James with a sigh. "Or you mean Moony and Lily?"

"Your words, not mine."

"He deserves her more than I do," muttered James. "She wanted to go out with him first, after all. But he was stubborn about that whole werewolf shit - said no witch should ever be saddled with him." He sighed. "It's ironic, really. Now that she isn't a witch any more, they can't do anything about it since vampires and werewolves can't mate."

"They can't?" asked Sirius, looking up with a surprised look. "What do you mean, they can't mate?"

"I read about it," shrugged James. "It's very risky for vampires and werewolves to have sex even if they want to. The blood lust gets in the way and they can't resist biting each other, no matter how far from the full moon it is. And that's fatal, of course."

* * *

Back in the Hospital Wing, Hermione and Lily were having girl bonding time. Today's bonding topic was a Thousand and One Ways of Teasing Harry. Specifically, how he would deal with the hordes of females who would hunt him down when they heard that his mate had been pulled out of Hogwarts. He was enjoying it slightly more than than a vomit-flavoured bean. 

"I suppose we could just spread rumours that he's gay," pondered Hermione, her hand on her chin as if in serious thought.

"That wouldn't work," countered Lily. "Then it would just be guys chasing him instead of girls. Besides, Blaise would get first dibs."

"How about spreading rumours that he's a eunuch?"

Harry's hands instinctively moved over his crown jewels in a protective gesture familiar to male primates.

"Hmm..." considered Lily. "Perhaps not. It wouldn't be good for Hogwarts' reputation if people thought that one of its Triwizard Champions had no balls."

"Do you honestly think they'd notice?" asked Hermione with a straight face.

Harry noticed, to his relief, that Remus Lupin had just woken up.

"He could just start having an affair with another teacher... become known as a Scarlet Man ... there's good money in becoming a gigolo ... it would add to his portfolio of satisfied older witches... "

"Moony!" cried Harry, immediately conjuring a glass of water and raising it to the werewolf's lips.

"Remus!" cried Lily, carefully wrapping her arms around her bedridden friend. Hermione gave Harry a significant look.

"How are you feeling, Mr Lupin?" asked Hermione. The werewolf looked at her in confusion. "Oh, sorry! It's me, Hermione. I'm pretending to be the new Transfigurations teacher."

"She is the new Transfigurations teacher," clarified Harry. "She's pretending to be Niamh O'Riordan."

"I'm really sorry," Hermione added, wringing her hands. "If you hadn't come to our place for Christmas, then you would be alright now..."

Remus stared at her blankly and then waved her protests away when he understood what she was trying to say.

"It's nothing," he whispered hoarsely and took another sip of water. All the events of the preceding few days had been explained to him by Lily and Harry on the previous occasions that he had been awake. "You look odd, Miss O'Riordan."

"That's Mrs O'Riordan, thank you very much," said Hermione with a small smile.

"Awwww," said Remus, "poor widdle Hawwy! His girlfriend got mawwied while she was away!"

"Oh Merlin," grumbled Harry. "I never knew there was such a thing as recovering too quickly until now."

Lily glared at her son before kissing Remus' forehead.

"Just kidding, Mum," said Harry hastily.

"Any news while I was away?" asked Remus.

"New teaching appointments," said Hermione when the Potters said nothing. "Lily says you know of some of the new Professors."

"Oh?" asked Remus. "Do tell. Who's replacing Lily?"

"Alastor Moody."

"Merlin!" gasped Remus. "You'll want to take earmuffs to class, Harry. Mad-Eye can get a little ... intense. Loud, certainly."

"He's also becoming Head of Slytherin," said Harry.

"Moody was a Slytherin?" asked Remus.

"You didn't know?" asked Harry, surprised. "I thought you did. I heard Sirius mention it, once."

Remus' eyes widened more. "He must have discovered it during Auror training. We certainly didn't know that at Hogwarts. Things might have been ... different otherwise. Or maybe not." He paused and turned to Hermione again. "You said there were others?"

"Er, right," replied the young witch. "Do you know Theodore and Andromeda Tonks?"

"Ted and Andy?" asked the werewolf. "Sirius' cousin Andy? I thought they were living in Sweden!"

"Their daughter joined Auror training recently," said Lily. "against their wishes. They decided to come back to keep an eye on her, I think."

"You don't think that's the whole reason, do you?" asked Harry, looking at his mother. She shrugged in response.

"Anyway," said Hermione. "Mr Tonks is coming to teach Muggle Studies. He's Muggle-born, so that should be good. Mrs Tonks is coming to teach History of Magic."

"Yah!" said Harry with a fist in the air.

Remus grinned. "Looks like someone's glad to be losing sleeping time."

"It's very unfair," said Hermione, "just when I drop history they go and get a real teacher."

"What's happening to Binns?" asked Remus.

"He's still teaching History of Magic," answered Professor O'Riordan. "Some idiotic Hogwarts regulation says that a ghost teacher can never stop if they don't want to. But now students are going to be given an option to choose between Magical History, taught by Professor Tonks, and History of Magic taught by Binns. Perhaps Binns will take a hint once his classrooms turn empty."

"Excellent," said Remus admiringly. "Better never than late, I suppose." He glanced at Lily. "Who's teaching Potions?"

Hermione looked at Lily as well, and motioned to her to explain.

"We did consider the plan of me disguising myself as human and doing the job," replied Lily. "But that's too risky. If I was discovered, Albus would be thrown out. The anti-vampire hysteria is becoming too strong. I'm going back to Romania to talk to the clan. Hopefully I can bring some reinforcements."

"Do you think you'll succeed, Crina?" asked Remus seriously.

"Officially, no," said Crina Vanescu. "You know the shit in vampire politics. Wizards are to vampires what Muggles are to wizards and all that rot. The clan is not going to get involved. But I think I can bring a few of my friends along. Albus has offered them a place in the old crowd."

"He has?" asked Remus, surprised. The two children looked intrigued, and Lily motioned to them that she would explain later. "Do you think he'd bring my pack in as well?"

"You should ask him," said Lily, "but if you pack and my ... pack got together..."

"Yeah," muttered Remus with much eye rolling. "I can imagine, though I'd rather not. So who's teaching Potions now?"

"Professor Oya Aran," said Hermione. "We've never heard of her, but Dumbledore has. She's a Turkish-born witch from Germany. Grew up near Stuttgart, the Headmaster said. She's been living in Britain for the past five years as a freelance brewer. She's also a part-time ... security expert."

"Vampire slayer," Lily clarified.

Remus' eyes widened.

"Hey, I'm a vampire slayer too," said Lily. "I'm not saying I like it, but it's a good political move on Albus' part. He will be letting that tidbit become common knowledge."

Remus could see the uneasy looks on Hermione's and Harry's faces, but said nothing more on that topic.

* * *

_A/N: Josef Ivanauskas' mauling of good Aussie English is courtesy of Koalanet. I didn't get a chance to beta this with my Aussie sister first, but some Aussie readers reading this (Autoexec, Coquetry, Julesy, Thomz) have already pointed out some corrections that I've since taken into account. Translations: fair dinkum : genuine, knocking : criticizing, brekkie : breakfast, going off : refers to a party that's a lot of fun. _

_Speaking of other reader input, an Israeli reader (thanks aizi!) provided a translation that's been used to add a bit of flavour to chapter 10 - see the bit about Hermione's T-shirt. _

_Translation: Voldemort means 'flight of death' in French. _

_One of the nice aspects about fanfiction writing is that you get to throw in all sorts of nice names for OCs. In the last chapter, I threw in the names two of my favourite football players when I was a littlun living in Nigeria with my expat parents - Ian Rush and John Barnes both played for Liverpool. This time I managed to throw in the name of the first lass I **liked** (I was eleven, she was thirteen - she's an mechanical engineer somewhere right now - wish I was too) and that of another friend of mine who fits in a similar category. I'm fairly sure neither will ever read this, hehe. _

_There were plenty of responses to my call in the previous chapter for long H/Hr fics. I'd read only half of them before, so I'm very grateful. (Interestingly, Paradigm of Uncertainy was the most common suggestion.) I'll be updating my LiveJournal Page with the suggestions soon. If anyone wants read an excellent Hermione-centric Voldemort-loses-but-Purebloods-win fic where she is ostracized by everyone for a fantastic piece of dark magic that brings Lily Evans back to life, try The Prefect's Portrait by Arsinoe de Blassenville. You may require a stiff drink afterwards, though. (Yes, root beer qualifies as a stiff drink if you're not of age. Now shush.) _

_One reviewer suggested that my Lily was too good to be true. This is a danger that could easily happen in this fic and may already have happened. What do people think? I have my reasons, but would like to hear others. But I won't apologize for making Lily the most important character in the story. Ideally I'd like to make this fic 30 percent about Lily, 25 Hermione, 20 Harry and 25 percent for everyone else. But the most important goal is being funny, followed by being not-too-over-the-top. _

_Keep the flames (and other things, like compliments, if your sanity is questionable) coming - they add to the review count... _

_I don't suppose I can put in a fanart request for someone to draw Tom and the Impalis playing scrabble... _

_Next chapter - Blaise returns, more character deaths. (Ron's death has had most requests so far in the yahoogroups poll.) _


	15. Things Get Worse

_A/N: I realized after a few reviews of the last chapter that my reference to Oya Aran as a vampire slayer made many people think of Buffy. Sorry about that - this isn't a crossover fic. I used the phrase 'vampire slayer' literally, to refer to someone with enough ability and training to kill vampires. By that definition, vampires like Crina are technically vampire slayers. I'll refer to the profession as vampire hunting now. _

_I've read Lori's Paradigm of Uncertainty and its sequels in the past few days, after several reviewers suggested it. I've also read other suggestions (see my LJ page), but Lori's fics are just brilliant. I'm not sure how I managed to avoid reading them before. They may even have turned me off HP fanfic for life, because it seems inconceivable that I will ever meet better fics. They are just so... plausible - and witty and well-written and philosophical. And, of course, Hermione kicks ass, especially when she breaks a leg (of Harry's) to pass her exams. Can't say I'm entirely averse to the fluff either. _

_It's interesting, too, that Lori's H/Hr ship can still float happily after the horrific canon events of HBP. Methinks that if Rowling continues to float either of the R/Hr or H/G ships in Book Seven, then she loves Hermione just as much as Doyle loved Sherlock. _

_This chapter includes character death. _

* * *

"What did you call me when I first you, Alastor?"

"A stuffed-up pig's bladder. You still are, too. What did you say to me when I lost my leg?"

"I made a regrettable joke regarding the cost of an arm and a lower limb that you have never let me live down."

"Nor was I planning to stop, Albus."

Albus Dumbledore was now confident about the security in his office. In his new-found channelling of the spirit of the one-legged cyclops who had just arrived in his office, he had even relegated the portraits of all previous Hogwarts Heads to alternate locations, much to their collective dismay.

Alastor Moody spent an hour checking the new security arrangements while maintaining the alcohol content in his bloodstream at its usual dangerously high level. In the meantime, Albus worked on paperwork.

The first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix was scheduled for the next day. Dumbledore and Moody were there to discuss matters beforehand. Not everything that was said between them was going to be repeated to the whole group, but some of it would be.

"What's this meeting about, Albus? Other than Tom being back, of course."

"Well," said Dumbledore with an air of unease, "this really goes back to an error I made... Alastor! What in the name of Morgana's favourite toothpick are you doing?"

Moody had dropped to the floor and had his wand pointing at the Headmaster.

"What did the Muggle Queen Mother call you when you stepped on her foot in 1984?" asked the cyclops, his artificial eye whirling madly and flitting about the office like a renegade Snitch.

"I presume you mean at their Yule Ball," said a puzzled Dumbledore. "She called me the best dancer she had seen in all of the previous ten minutes."

Alastor grunted and returned to the chair, his wand still in his hand.

"Other than forcing me to recall yet more embarassing incidents, what was that for?"

"You didn't offer me any lemon drops, Albus." Moody didn't have to bother mentioning that he had considered that a sure sign of impersonation.

Dumbledore sighed. "I've stopped doing so. But that should have been a giveaway that I was _not_ being impersonated. Any decent imposter would have made sure to offer you lemon drops - even if you haven't accepted one since 1958."

"It's your bloody fault for turning that one into a Portkey that landed me in the middle of the lake! And it was winter!"

"Have I ever told you that forgetfulness is a virtue, Alastor? Besides, Abe made me do it."

"Enough," grunted Moody. "So you've stopped handing out lemon drops. I suppose I shouldn't discourage that. Now what did you have to tell me?"

In a concise manner that would have surprised anyone else, the Head of the Order of the Phoenix explained to the retired Auror of his new evidence-enhanced belief that Harry, and not Paul, had been the Boy Who Lived that was marked by Tom Riddle. He went on to describe the return of Lily Evans. The latter took the Auror completely by surprise, judging from the way his right eyebrow (the left had recently been burnt off in an unfortunate culinary incident) leaped to brow-level.

"Well, the first bit of news is a bleeding relief," said the Auror once the explanation was complete. "I'll keep an eye on young Harry. Any Slytherin going out with a Mudblood Gryffindor has to be strong. I'm looking forward to meeting her. What's her name - Ranger or something?"

"Hermione Granger. Her parents pulled her out of school," said Dumbledore with a loud sigh, ignoring Moody's Slytherin-acquired vocabulary. "Tom sent in some vampires two days before Yule and took them to his hideout. His troops violated and murdered a girl Polyjuiced to look like Miss Granger in front of them and let them go. You can't blame them for acting like parents. You would do the same thing if it was Catriona or Petros, would you not?"

"Leave my kids out of it, you daft old codger." He shook his head in disbelief. "Voldemort let them go? Bollocks! What's he up to?" He gave his friend an appraising look. "Oh no you don't, Albus Dumbledore! You're going to take this as more evidence of your Love Conquers All theory, aren't you?"

"I'd be glad to hear your counter arguments, Alastor. Tom is not stupid. He wishes to recruit young Harry to his side. He knows that the likelihood of this is reduced if he kills the girl and that it is increased if she leaves Harry of her own accord. But if Harry and Hermione remain in love, assuming that is what they feel right now, then that will be a threat to him. Hermione has suddenly become a lot more important than she will ever realize. She must be kept close to Harry."

"I still think that's a load of soured flobberworm juice. The recruiting bit make sense, but that's it."

"Surely you remember the charm that Lily used in 1981?"

"That was a one-off. Tom will be looking out for that one again. And besides, it was based on sacrifice, not love."

"And love is not sacrifice?"

"I love crunchy peanut butter. Where's the sacrifice in that?"

"You're avoiding my point," sighed Dumbledore. He began poking around in his drawer for a spare lemon drop. But it only contained blood pops, and he made a note to visit Hogsmeade as soon as possible for a vital restocking mission.

"Albus, you point is about as sharp as powdered ashwinder eggs. With the same stink. But fine, suppose it exists. I doubt you've sent the girl away if she is so necessary for Potter to stay on our side. You've kept her around, haven't you? Did you Obliviate her parents?"

"I didn't have to," answered Dumbledore, "but it was an option that I would have taken. Her parents think she is safe at some location other than Hogwarts. But she will be here, teaching the first to fourth years under the guise of Transfiguration Assistant Professor Niamh O'Riordan. She's a fourth year herself, but well ahead of her peers. Especially with Transfiguration. Minerva places her at near-NEWT level now. It's not ideal for teaching, I admit, but it will be good enough. And students often learn more from other students than they do from teachers."

Moody raised his eyebrows but did not comment. "Well then. Who knows what right now and who do you plan to tell at tomorrow's meeting?"

_BOOM!_

The two men were at the window in an instant. The sound had come from the direction of Hogsmeade, and Albus Dumbledore suddenly felt a presence missing in his mind ...

"Aberforth..."

* * *

"We are going to have to agree on how to meet without arousing suspicion," said Professor O'Riordan. "What would you like to look like?" She was walking with Harry around the castle under the pretext of being given a guided tour. They were under a mobile Muffliato that she had taught him to cast when she found she did not have enough power to cast it herself.

"Really?" snapped Harry. "You make it sound like it's all nice and settled. I don't remember ever agreeing to it."

They had been arguing about this for a while now. It boiled down to Harry being uncomfortable snogging Hermione while she looked like someone else. She felt that she could not ever undo her disguise because of the miniscule-but-existent chance that someone could discover her and tell Voldemort. Eventually she had suggested that Harry also wear a glamour and pretend to be her visiting husband. That way, they would both have to suffer from the snogging-someone-else syndrome. If this failed, the secret that would be revealed was that Harry was having an affair with a teacher and not that said teacher was really a student called Hermione Granger. People rarely remembered that a secret could cover another secret.

"Are you done?" asked Hermione quietly. She would normally have yelled at him, but it hadn't worked when she had done so earlier. Besides, she knew she was right, that he knew she was right, and that he knew she knew he knew she was right.

"But I'll won't be the same," he whined. "This O'Riordan face is all very nice, but it's not _you_. I'll have to keep kissing you with my eyes closed."

"What! You snog with your eyes open?"

Harry jumped guiltily. "You know what I mean, Mione. You're beautiful when you're kissing me. Well, you always are, but then I get to see you close up. And play with your hair. Have I ever told you how much I like your bushy hair, how I love how it spreads down your face in cute brown waves..."

"Stop it, Harry," she said weakly.

"I'm not flattering you," he replied. "Well, okay, yes, I am, but I mean every word of it."

Hermione blushed but remained adamant. "Thank you, Harry. But please, you know we have to."

Harry sighed and changed the subject. "Do you think we should tell anyone about my being the boy who snagged Voldemort?"

Hermione considered this, grateful for having something else to talk about. "We could have Blaise make some buttons, like the ones the Gryffies made that said 'Harry Stinks', except they'd say 'Harry snagged Voldemort'."

"Voldemort?" asked Harry. "Not You Know Who? Or He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"Don't be silly," she replied with a laugh. "We need to keep the badges small. Not all of us have chests the size of Lavender Brown's!"

"Brown? Who's - oh, you mean that dorm mate of yours who suffers from terminal Big Jug syndrome? Thank goodness you don't have that. Large breasts are scary. I can't imagine how any male would bed her without being in dire risk of serious head injury."

"Harry!"

"What?" he asked innocently.

She took a short breath. "Just surprised, I suppose. Aren't all males supposed to like large ... chests?"

"Some of us do," explained Harry. "I don't have a preference myself, other than not wanting them too large - unless they're chicken in garlic and mushroom sauce, of course." He grinned as he watched his girlfriend wince at the crude joke. "Blaise likes them small, which is good for athletic types like Katie. I believe Malfoy just requires existence, if the time I overheard Parkinson and D'Ancunio discussing daily body modification charms was anything to judge by. Now, where were we before we were discussing breastism?"

"Well, we _had_ been avoiding the topic of body modification," replied Hermione, staring straight ahead. Discussing breast size with her boyfriend had not been on her List Of Things To Do Today.

"Oh, yeah," he replied with a grin at her uneasiness with recent topics. "And badges. You said Blaise should make badges that said 'Harry snagged Voldemort'. Well, it's a good idea, as long as Blaise doesn't make them."

"What's wrong with that?"

"This is Blaise we're talking about. His badges will come out saying 'Harry snogged Voldemort'!"

She laughed. "It could be worse."

"How could it _possibly_ be worse?"

"He could misprint a different character. Replace a N by a H, for example."

"What would - HERMIONE! - that's - ick! - so wrong!"

She laughed some more, saying that she was glad to hear that he wouldn't be cheating behind her back with He Who Must Not Be Nice. He instinctively looked around to see if any person or portraits might be in the vicinity. Fortunately, the corridor they were in seemed empty of both. Not that it would matter, he supposed. Students were allowed to make teachers laugh, weren't they?

"How's Blaise?" she asked when she had regained control of herself.

Harry turned serious. "I never thought I'd see the day when I wanted Blaise to make more jokes. Just one joke. I don't understand, really. He never spoke about his mother - I mean _really_ spoke about her - so I don't really understand why he's so... Merlin, that sounds callous, dunnit?"

"I don't know, Harry," she replied. "You didn't have a mother for a long while. Most people do and they take them for granted. They assume they'll always be there. I know I did."

Harry nodded in at least partial understanding. He didn't ask when Hermione had stopped taking her mother for granted, but suspected it had been Voldemort abducted them. They continued their random walk through the castle until the silence was broken again. This time it was broken by the sound of a distant explosion.

"What was that?" asked Hermione after a period of mute and mutual shock.

"It's outside the castle," said Harry. "Come on!" They rushed to the nearest window. Distant shouts were coming from the direction of Hogsmeade. They could see Lily's winged figure already halfway towards the town. Hermione was impressed that Harry's mother could move so quickly.

"Let's go!" shouted Harry, turning into his large eagle form. Hermione stared blankly at him. He turned back into a boy. "Turn into a cat! I'll carry you!"

"I'm too heavy for you!" she said, snapping out of it.

"Are you a witch or not? I'll put a lightening charm on you!"

"Oh!" she said, her face flushing, and transformed.

* * *

Narog Ivanisevic watched the chaos unfold. Unlike bigoted Pureblood wizards, vampires like him considered both magical and non-magical humans to be variants of the same species of prey. They despised and lived off both equally. This also meant that they had no objections to using Muggle technology any more than they had objections to using wizarding magic.

Especially not when Muggle technology included pocket-sized remotely-detonated explosive devices large enough to destroy half of a building in the middle of Hogsmeade.

Narog continued to survey his surroundings from his spot at the top of a building. There was a lot of blood around and he was sorely tempted to start feeding. However, he suppressed the urge as his job was only half done.

It had not been particularly difficult to eliminate Aberforth Dumbledore. It had certainly been much harder to find the bloke. Narog still found it difficult to believe that the scruffy bartender at the Hogshead was the older brother of the illustrious Chief of the Wizengamot. (Though it did explain the goat that sometimes wandered around the village.)

The plan was simple, as were most plans involving suicide bombers. Vampires made good kamikaze assassins if appropriate precautions (such as explosion-resistant neckwear) were taken, since they could be reincarnated.

Norag looked at his watch.

A Muggle bomb, which would be immune to any magical detection spells, had been placed near the Hogs Head bar. The suicide bomber detonated it once Aberforth Dumbledore was at an appropriate distance - close enough to be killed, far enough to leave a body.

Now that the initial kaboom had occurred, another team member would have rushed in and placed a second bomb inside the carcass of Aberforth Dumbledore. By now he would be waiting for Albus Dumbledore to arrive. And when the most powerful Light wizard in the British Isles sobbed over his older brother's body, the bomb in it would be detonated.

There was, of course, the definite possibility that the younger Dumbledore would act quickly enough to raise a shield that would protect him from the explosion, but if he was distraught enough...

Well. All plans had risks. There were other plans to kill Dumbledore. This was merely the second. The first, poisoning his lemon drops supply from Honeydukes, had failed when the old wizard had detected it.

And there was the Headmaster now, Apparating in from his ivory tower three kilometres away. He had the peglegged bastard Moody with him. Narog was both pleased and dismayed. He would be overjoyed if the upcoming blast could take out Moody, but the old ex-Auror was a paranoid git who kept shields up nearly all the time. Whether the shields were strong enough was another matter ...

A second explosion rent the area.

Narog grinned and touched his pocket communicator to send out a Mission Accomplished signal to his superiors. He swooped down to the open street. As expected, people were running around screaming, just waiting to be fed on. But first, he would have to verify that both Dumbledores were dead. This could be rather difficult since the second bomb would have turned the brothers into a grisly jigsaw puzzle, but their backroom boffins had provided them with a series of complicated identification spells.

Then he heard something behind him and ducked. He did so just in time, and rolled to the ground before springing up and jumping into the air.

"You did this, didn't you?" The speaker was a white-haired vampiress whose cloak lining indicated that she was a low-level Leganu. She seemed to be rather angry, given the way her wings were flapping.

"Legaaaanuuuu," he drawled, "how delightful of you to arrive here. Just in time to feed." He waved his arms indicating the prey around them, and then brought it down suddenly when she fired a spell at him.

Vampire duels were characteristically short, bloody, and devoid of conversation. This was no different. Norag was a brilliant duellist and won in less than a minute, leaving the new vampire in a Body Bind. He had a few scratches, at least by vampire standards. Objectively, he had six wounds, of which two were deep enough to have been fatal to a human. His opponent had at least twenty. He stood over her, smiled, and placed a boot on her throat.

He felt the air move behind him and leaped out of the way. But his leap was inadequate and he found himself on the ground and trapped in a net of Acromantula silk. He looked up and saw a flash of blonde hair.

Like any well-trained assassin, Narog did not bother himself with dishing out taunts or threats. He could not get out of the net - he had tried several times in training sessions - so he immediately sent out an emergency Help-Get-Out-Of-Here signal on his communicator to his team. While he waited for a response, he looked at the person who had sent the net.

She - she smelt like a female even if he couldn't tell visually - had short straight blonde hair and a pale blotchy complexion. She wore a knee-high black cloak of a type similar to Aurors, black boots, and a grim look. He could not see her eyes behind her Muggle sunglasses, though he could see a few freckles.

Norag had just finished memorizing her appearance when several cracks signalled the appearance of Aurors. His last two team members swooped in and one of them picked him up as they flew over.

* * *

Lily woke up on a spartan bed in a spartan and empty room. She immediately tried to sit up, but Acromantula silk kept her down. She considered burning them off or not, but she was too tired. She had clearly underestimated that Impali vampire. She, like any Leganu vampire, had been in plenty of skirmishes and streetfights before, but she was still merely good. Her opponent had been brilliant. Her exploits in Voldemort's lair had been achieved as a combination of surprise, the ordinariness of her opponents, and the adrenalin rush of knowing that her son was in danger and seeing her best friend tortured in front of her.

She heard footsteps approaching and looked up. It was a woman with short curly brown hair and an olive-brown complexion. She was barefoot, and had a dirty and too-large once-white t-shirt and a torn blue jeans. She held a glass of water to Lily's mouth. Lily drank it thirstily.

"Sorry about the ropes," said the woman. "Let me explain. My name is Oya Aran. I will be teaching Potions at Hogwarts starting next week. I was at Hogsmeade when I saw you fighting with an Impali vampire. He was about to stomp your throat when I stepped in."

"Oh," said Lily, trying to remember what she saw in the aftermath of the duel. She remembered his pressure on her throat, her fear that she would never see Harry or Paul or Remus or Hermione again, the sudden cessation of pressure, the woman with blonde hair... "Thank you. But you don't look - oh, I see. Glamour?"

"Yep," replied Aran. "It's a bit silly to fight when people know who you are, don't you think?"

"Er," said Lily uncertainly.

"Don't worry yourself. To each their own." The woman untied Lily's ropes and handed her a goblet of chicken blood.

"Oh," said Lily, surprised. "Crina Vanescu. Pleased to meet you. And - er - I was very pleased to see you earlier - thank you."

"Vanescu? The Hogwarts prof? Figures. You match her description. Though I expected you to fight better."

Lily winced, for two different reasons. "Former professor. I resigned last week. It's a long story." She sighed and looked up. "I don't suppose you know who I was fighting, do you? He was very good."

"I don't know either. But you're right. He was very good, from the little I saw of him. You really should carry silk nets around."

"Can't afford them," replied Lily.

"Sorry," said Aran automatically, though it sounded like she was sorry about Lily's financial constraints rather than Aran's drawing attention to them. "Whatever. We've got to get back to business. You've been out for about thirty hours."

"WHAT!" cried Lily. Thirty hours was very long for a vampire. Her injuries had not been _that_ bad, had they? "And - hang on a minute - I thought Dumbledore said you were a vampire hunter, so why did you save me?"

"My uncle was a vampire," replied Aran calmly as she walked over to a trolley filled with drinks and books and instruments that Lily wished she hadn't recognized. "Well, he wasn't my uncle really, given he was a couple of hundred years old. He was of clan Steba, in case you're interested. Suffice it to say I know vamps aren't all the same. The British Ministry, however, disagrees. You could have been healed much faster at St Mungo's but then it would have been straight to a prison cell - if you were lucky."

Aran tossed a newspaper on Lily's lap, followed by a small bottle of Firewhiskey.

"This morning's paper. You'll need the other item."

Bemused, Lily reached for the paper and looked at the front page. She gave a loud cry when she read the headlines.

**Thirty killed in Hogsmeade Explosion and Vampire Attack**   
**Dumbledore Dead!**  
**Vampires declared Illegal in Britain!**  
**Serpentinus members to be questioned**

Lily didn't even bother reading the rest of it. She simply dropped the paper and looked blankly at the wall.

"Drink it."

Lily had forgotten about the Firewhiskey. She promptly grabbed the bottle and emptied its contents.

"If I were to hand your head to the _Ministry_, I would be paid a thousand galleons." Aran smiled. "You're worth quite a bit. Don't worry, I won't hand you in."

"Oh," said Lily, only half-hearing. "What about Dumbledore?"

"Dead. A Corpus Revelus spell on what they found in the Hogs Head said 'Dumbledore'."

Lily sagged, before looking up. "But - that's not the best spell they could use!"

"Correct," agreed Aran. "But there wasn't very much left to use it on. He was near the epicentre of the second explosion so his body was ... spread out. That rules out more accurate spells. But Corpus Revelus is good enough. If it said the body parts were Dumbledore's, then they were."

They said nothing for a while. Lily stared at the empty bottle of firewhiskey in her hands before throwing it angrily against the wall. Aran calmly banished the shards.

"I can help you leave Britain," offered Aran. "I could drive you to Dover and you could fly over the Channel."

"You've got a Muggle car?" asked Lily, surprised.

"Its got four wheels and moves. I call it a car. My last boyfriend called it the Frankenstein's Monster of cars. But that was before I pushed him out of it."

Lily grinned. "How fast was it moving at the time?"

"Dunno. The speedometer was kaput. And U2 was playing at the time. I couldn't be bothered to count telephone poles and calculate."

"Thanks for your offer," chuckled Lily, not knowing if Aran was joking or not about her ex-boyfriend's departure from her life. "But this is my home. I was a Brit before I was turned. I have folks here. I'm not leaving."

"I suppose that makes sense. Even so, I hope you'll leave - and come back with reinforcements. Of your kind."

Lily looked at Oya Aran warily. "Why are you so ... helpful? You save my life, you trust me before you have enough information to do so, and now you want me to bring in reinforcements? What's in it for you?"

Aran glared at her. "Ingrate."

"I am grateful," said Lily, her voice rising. "I just want to know! Voldemort's a master shyster! For all I know, you could be using me as part of a grand plan of his!"

"Do you honestly think that Voldemort creature is back?" asked Aran curiously. "I know Dumbledore said so, but other than that... not that I particularly care." She stood up and began to pace the room. "It boils down to vengeance," she said, her voice growing soft as her anger cooled. "I'm after the Impalis. They killed my uncle. I want them all dead. That's why I am a hunter. Any enemy of them is my friend. Any friend of them is my enemy."

Lily looked at the pacing figure of the young vampire hunter and Potions Mistress. The woman was at least thirty and had the appearance of a seasoned soldier. Her hair was short, but it would probably be bushy if it was longer.

"Voldemort is back," said Lily slowly. "He captured me and some... friends. We escaped."

Oya stopped pacing and looked at her. She shrugged. "If you insist, Vanescu. Are you willing to help?"

Lily hesitated, but only for a moment. "In principle, yes. And reinforcements are a good idea, though I'm not sure how many I can bring back. I am a very low-level Leganu and don't have the ear of the clan leaders."

"But they must be worried about this... these stupid regulations!"

"Worried?" said Lily cynically. "They gave up on Britain a long time ago. This island lives in the bloody dark ages. Even the Muggles gave up on apartheid."

"Only two years ago," Aran said absently. Her voice acquired a touch of desperation. "But what if the Impalis take over Britain?"

"A vampire hunter asking a vampire to bring in vampires to fight vampires? Merlin." She gave Aran a look. "I get the revenge bit, but Britain isn't your home. Why are you so intent on defending it?"

"It _is_ my home!" yelled Aran. "Just because I'm an immigrant doesn't mean I don't love it! I love it more than any of you British borns can ever understand! You take it for granted - I do not!"

Lily was surprised at her vehemence.

"Look," said Aran, calming down slightly. "You lived in Romania for years now, right? At least that's what the Headmaster told me when he interviewed me. What if the Impalis - or anyone! - was trying to take over Romania? Wouldn't you fight for it?"

"Well, yes, but - oh. I see." She paused. "I'm sorry." She paused again. "What do you like about Britain anyway?"

Aran smiled and then gave a quick bark of laughter. "Would you believe - the weather? It's too sunny in Turkey. British weather considers the sun optional."

Lily raised her eyebrows.

"Don't even think about commenting on that," said Aran. "But you have to admit - you Brits love your weather. What would you complain about otherwise?"

"It's just ironic," Lily chuckled. "You do realize that vampires like muggy weather?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's why there were more vampires in Britain than anywhere else in Europe until 1594," muttered Aran, referring to the date of the Fifth and final Vampire War in the British Isles. The wizards had won, causing most British vampires to flee the country. Several had settled in Romania.

"You know your history," said Lily.

"Course I do. My uncle was a vamp, remember? We visited Slains Castle once when I was a kid. That was the first time I visited England. I'd read Abraham Stoker's books - the Magical ones and the Muggle ones - and wanted to see it. My folks trusted him to bring me here."

"I've been there too," said Lily slowly. "It wasn't what I had expected. Though it was what I should have expected, given the books."

"I know what you mean," agreed Aran. "It's very ..." She failed to find the right words.

"Heavy?" suggested Lily.

Aran nodded after a moment. That did seem like the right word. Stoker had used the word a lot in his books to describe the oppressive feeling one got when entering the castle. It was worse when the visitor was a wizard instead of an Squib like Bram Stoker. She heard it was even worse if the visitor was a vampire.

"Is there anyone in Britain you'd like to say goodbye to?" asked Aran suddenly. "I've got an Owl. His name's Mustafa. He's very good. You can use him."

Lily's eyes widened. She had forgotten, somehow, about everyone else. "Oh no! Yes, thanks, I've got a ton of ... but I'll have to see some people in person."

"Where?" Aran asked, frowning.

"Hogwarts."

"You can't go there! Are your ears filled with wax? There's a bloody price on your head!"

"I'll be in the Forbidden Forest. I'll send them a message." Lily patted her pockets, and began getting out of bed. "Do you have my cloak?" Aran nodded. "Could I please have it? I've got a way of sending messages to my s - to some friends of mine."

Aran nodded and left the room to fetch it. Lily stood up and stretched. She began pondering how things had changed.

Dumbledore was dead. Vampires were persona non grata in Britain. Voldemort was gaining power and most people, the Ministry included, still didn't believe he was back. A group of people, including Harry, were being set up to take the blame for the attacks around the country. A prophecy said Harry had some power that could beat Voldemort, but no-one had any idea what that was. Harry might be above-average, but he still did not know more than, say, a seventh year when it came to fighting. Britain was going to plunge into civil war for several years if it was lucky. More likely, Voldemort would just take it over and all that would be left was resistance.

If she had any brains, she would just take Harry - and presumably Hermione - out of the country and leave Britain to boil in its own prejudiced juices. And tell James to do the same with Paul.

Come to think of it, she couldn't find too many arguments against that.

* * *

_A/N: With Dumbledore gone, there's no-one left to convince the Potters and the wizarding world of the truth regarding the Boys Who Lived. Or maybe there is. Is Moody dead? Is the evidence in favour of Albus' demise really conclusive? Is Albus dead? The answers are probably no and no and yes, respectively. _

_The discussion between Harry and Hermione regarding bodily matters will please some readers and offend others. You can never assume that philosophical and other opinions stated by any characters (or the author) is the truth. Besides, truth is often a polite word for the majority opinion. (But I would like to have some readers explain to me why bushy hair is considered a bad thing, at least in most fanfics.) _

_Abraham Stoker was an Irishman who wrote 'Dracula' under the name Bram Stoker. His inspiration for the location of the story was Slains Castle in Scotland. He was probably not a Squib in real life. _

_Arthur Conan Doyle hated Sherlock Holmes despite having created him. He felt his readers loved Holmes far more than Holmes deserved. _

_Stats so far, twenty days since the story began:  
FFNET : 44 000 hits (1500 on the last chapter), 272 reviews (21 on the last chapter), 65 c2s, 90 favs, 196 story alerts (Dang, I was hoping to get past the 200-alert mark) plus 65 author alerts.  
Portkey : 20 000 hits (670 on the last chapter), 155 reviews (15 on the last chapter, meaning that Portkey readers now review 1.5 times more often than FFNET readers), unknown number of alerts and favs. _


	16. Aftermath

* * *

_The day after the attack_

The four year old boy stroked the cat under the chin as it purred contentedly. He giggled and reached for its tail. The cat whisked it away and he tried again. It moved and the game continued.

There was a crack from just outside the front door, followed by a knock.

The cat trotted out of the living room, much to the toddler's dismay. It transformed into a stern governess-type woman as it reached the front door.

"Who is it?"

"Mad-Eye Moody," said the voice from the door. "Is that you, Minerva?"

"Alastor?" said Minerva McGonall. "When and where did Sirius Black pull his first prank on you?"

"Damn you, Minnie," muttered the grizzled ex-Auror. "It was outside Albus' office. He charmed my wooden leg to insult my good leg. What did you ask him to do for his detentions?"

Minerva smiled. "He had to fill out his application form to Auror training. And create a new leg for you that had playback charms for your favourite operettas." She opened the door. "Do come in, Alastor." She looked at his grim and weary face. It had a few new scars. He was still wearing hospital robes as well. "Oh no! What's the matter?"

"Did you get the paper today?" he demanded. She shook her head. "Then you'll want to sit down," he said, clunking his peg leg into the living room. The toddler in it took one look at his face and began wailing. Moody rolled his eyes, which did nothing to help the situation.

"Oh, shush, Jonathan darling," said Minerva, picking the terrified infant up. "Look, it's only Mad-Eye." She turned the boy's face to her friend. Alastor smiled, or tried to. The child's eyes widened and the wailing grew louder.

"Bugger," said Minerva and cast a sleeping charm on the kid before laying him down on the couch. She glared at Moody, who shrugged sheepishly. He considered taking his glass eye out and levitating it so he could get a better look at the child - he liked children, he really did - but a glance at his friend's face told him to firmly can that idea.

"You should have put a glamour on yourself, Alastor!"

Moody shrugged, and muttered an apology. "Summon yourself a drink, Minnie." She did so with a worried look. A bottle of gin floated through the door, and she conjured a glass and some ice to go with it.

"I'm ready," she said.

"No you're not. Drink some of that grog first."

She rolled her eyes and took a few sips.

"Albus is dead."

She emptied the glass and prepared to refill it before giving up and drinking directly from the bottle. Moody waited for her to get through half of it.

"Explain."

"Someone found out that Aberforth owned and worked at the Hogs Head. They planted a Muggle bomb there. It blew up half the place, including Aberforth. I was with Albus in his office at the time. He knew something had happened to his brother - that bloody mental sibling connection between them. Fawkes brought us both to Hogsmeade at once. We walked in, and - fucking hell, Minnie! The place was like 1945 all over again! Bodies and shit and wailing and what not. Albus - I've not seen that look on his face since Janice died."

Moody took a deep breath. "We found Aberforth. He'd been dead for two minutes or so. Died instantly. He was near the bar - mostly. His hands and parts of his chest weren't there."

"Albus was completely out of it. He was holding the body, and his hands and robes were getting messed up with blood. I scanned the place for charms and then found that there was a silencing charm inside Aberforth. The bastards had placed a Muggle bomb inside Aberforth's body. Those things make ticking noises, hence the silencing charm. I threw my full shields up while shouting a warning but it was too late..."

Moody took a swig from his ever-refilling hipflask.

"I woke up in St Mungo's this morning. My shields were shattered and magical exhaustion had set in badly. They wanted to keep me there but I had to get this news to you. I didn't have enough strength to hex the Healers, so I took my leg off and bopped them on the heads with it and Flooed to the grocery store near this house. The one with the pickled banana poster in the window."

Minerva would normally have yelled at Alastor for this, but she did not. Instead she summoned another bottle, this time of single malt Muggle whiskey and poured herself a glass of it."

"What's the big news, Alastor?"

"Whether you like it or not, you're the Acting Head of both the Order and of Hogwarts now. You'll have to cut short your leave and get back there. There's a meeting scheduled for tonight, remember?"

"Yes, I was planning to come. Albus' office, right?"

"Your office now. People are going to assume it's not happening. We'll have to tell them it is. Hopefully half of them will show up while the other half prepares to flee the country or suchlike."

"That's the news?"

"That's the beginning of it. Albus said he already told you that Lily Evans is Professor Vanescu, so I don't need to tell you that. Speaking of whom, I'll send her a Patronus to tell her to meet her in your new office tonight at eleven. It would not be a good idea for her to be at the meeting, since she's a vampire and the Ministry is capturing all vamps. Someone in the Order might turn her in now that Albus is gone."

"But that's not the biggest news. This is : Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived, not Paul. Albus fucked up in 1981."

Minerva dropped the glass. It fell on her robes and the whiskey in it began dripping to the sofa. "What? The Boy Who Lived is a Slytherin?"

Both his eyes turned sharply at her.

"That is _not_ the correct response, Minerva."

"Sorry Alastor, it's such a shock - Albus is sure?"

"Was sure. He's dead, Minerva."

Minerva put her head in her hands and sobbed. Moody looked on awkwardly and took a few large gulps from his hip flask.

Merlin, he hated this.

* * *

Harry woke up in unfamiliar quarters. It was a bed that smelt of new linen and lavender and pine.

Wait a minute. Hermione also smelt of lavender and pine. And dusty old books whenever she spent a long time in the library, which was every other day.

The female in question walked into the room. He looked at her blankly, and then shook his head.

"Hermione, you - you - you like like Hermione!"

This was, indeed, true. His girlfriend was, contrary to her adamant position of the previous week, not wearing the strong glamour that the Headmaster had taught her. More memories returned as his brain woke up - he vaguely remembered having shared the bed with her - both fully clothed and not even in pyjamas and only getting under bedsheets in the middle of the night. Yet, given what they had seen the previous day, it had not seemed awkward at all.

She did not answer. Instead she jumped at him in the bed, causing him to thump his head against the backboard heavily. She did not notice. Instead she began to bawl mightily.

Harry was confused. Hermione had never cried like this before. He hugged her, awkwardly and then steadily more tightly as she pressed closer to him. He began to stroke her hair and say that it was going to be alright...

She turned to him and slapped him.

"How on earth can you say it's going to be alright, Potter? Dumbledore was killed yesterday! It's not going to be alright!"

And then she bawled again and pressed herself into him while his stunned hand-marked face paled and his jaw dropped in shock.

Suddenly realizing what she had just done, she pulled back. "My God, Harry, I'm so sorry, I -"

He pulled her in again, this time needing the close physical contact more than she did.

* * *

Sirius Black was busy. Around the country, vampires were being arrested and tied with Acromantula silk and being brought to the Ministry. To his immense relief, Lily had disappeared.

Had this been a year ago, he would have turned a blind eye to the way the other Aurors were taunting, and in many cases physically assaulting, the bloodsuckers. He would have even been helping such Aurors, considering that his best friend's wife had been killed by them.

But now that she was one of them... things were different, somehow.

"Jones! Valentine! Stop wasting your energies insulting that poor bastard! Get him to the holding cells and get out there and find the next vamp on your list!"

In Sirius Black's mental dictionary, everyone was a bastard and therefore it did not count as an insult.

Merlin, he hated this.

* * *

James Potter was not having a good day. He, like the rest of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, was being vilified by ambassadors from other nations for the blanket arrest order on vampires.

The Americans and Australians and Argentinians were threatening sanctions, and would probably be joined by several other nations. The only reason the Romanians and Slavics and Germanics were not threatening sanctions was that they already had them on, thanks to the British treatment of werewolves and other Dark creatures. But they were still making loud noises and threatening to call for Britain's expulsion from the International Confederacy of Magic for having the most stringent apartheid policy in the Magical world.

Of course, the Americans would probably pipe down soon enough, considering trade relations and all that. Commerce was too important for such things as Magical Being rights to get in the way. And that would keep Fudge's follies firmly in place.

Unless, of course, the American opposition won the upcoming election... it was a pity there was no way to influence those elections.

Merlin, he hated this.

* * *

The two children sat on the sofa. Hermione drank tea. Harry drank cold milk. They were both wearing glamours now that Hermione had recovered from her earlier breakdown. They had both tried the coffee that came with Professor O'Riordan's teaching quarters, but it was clearly an acquired taste that they had yet to acquire.

Their trip to Hogsmeade the previous day had been singularly unproductive. They had learnt one thing though - they had to work on emergency falling charms.

Harry had been nearing Hogsmeade with his feline baggage when the pain struck his scar. Voldemort was very happy. In retrospect, they figured that this must have been shortly after the second explosion, when Voldemort heard that Dumbledore was dead. Fortunately, Harry had managed to almost reach the ground before he he couldn't fly any more, and cats could land on their feet after a twenty foot fall. Eagles were a different story though, and Harry still had some aches in his side.

Hermione wished Crookshanks was here. But that would be a dead giveaway, so he was with her parents in Cape Town.

She also wished that she could turn into her cat form so that she wouldn't feel so damn ... lost. But she and Harry had to talk.

Of course, she had thought that ten minutes ago as well, and they had yet to talk.

"I'm scared," she said, and pressed close to him. He pulled her closer. In any other circumstances this might have sent blood flowing to his nether regions, but not now.

"So am I," he said. "What now? Have you seen mu - Professor Vanescu?"

Hermione shook her head. "I talked to some folks. Someone saw a woman save her from another vampire and take her away."

"To the Ministry?"

"I don't know. I sent your fath - James an owl to see if he could find out." Hermione winced. Trying to keep their identities straight was hard. They had to do it in private, otherwise they might slip in public.

"Think he'll respond? He's not fond of .."

"This is an emergency."

"What if she's already in there?"

"We'll think of something."

Merlin, they hated this.

Harry's charmed notebook began to ring. He dashed to his robes and fumbled in its pockets before finding it. Hermione looked over his shoulder.

_Harry, it's Mum here. I'm staying at Oya Aran's house. She's the new Potions teacher. She saved me, you can trust her. I'm leaving for Romania in a couple of days, to try and bring some help. But first I want to see you to say goodbye for now. Can you meet me in the Forbidden Forest, near the old oak where we used to have knife throwing practice, at three pm today? Bring O'Riordan if you can."_

Harry glanced at Hermione, who cast the Tempus spell. It was just after ten.

"We can go earlier if you like. She doesn't know you're reading this now."

Harry nodded and began writing back. After a few minutes, he closed the book.

"We're meeting at two now. She can't Apparate there. Scared of the Ministry."

"The Ministry can't track Apparitions, can it? I know it claims it can, but..."

"She thinks they can if they really want to. And she's one of the most high-profile vamps in Britain, so..."

"I still can't believe this is happening." She swore in French, having picked up several new imprecations from the Beauxbatons crowd. Harry looked up, impressed. "Excuse my French," she muttered. "Well, to the Forest we go. Same method as yesterday?"

Harry winced. "No way in Hades. Potter is taking his pet kitty for a walk."

Harry ducked. But Hermione was aiming lower anyway.

* * *

"You do realize how many jokes we could get out of this," said Lily idly. "A vampire and a vampire hunter were sitting in a ..."

"Careful, Crina."

"... sitting in a car. What? What did you think I was going to say?"

Oya Aran raised an eyebrow. The other eyebrow might have been raised at well, but Lily couldn't see it from the passenger seat.

"You didn't really push your boyfriend out of a moving car, did you? And stop raising your eyebrow at me. It loses the effect if you do it so often."

"I put a cushioning charm and a selective silencing charm and a disillusionment charm on him first."

"Selective Silencio? Which one?"

"The one so that only I could hear him screaming."

"So this is my cue to avoid mentioning the fact that this car has no seatbelts, right?"

"I wouldn't push a vampire out my car."

"Should I be relieved?"

"See this button here?"

"The one that says eject? Oh. That's not for the casette player, is it?"

Oya grinned. "I love cliches, don't you?"

Crina decided to take the back seat next time she was in Aran's vehicle.

* * *

The two kids arrived at the rendezvous point an hour early, with a feline Hermione sitting on the shoulder of an undisguised and much complaining Harry. She jumped off and made a perfect four-point landing. One of her paws ended up on a dry twig. It cracked and she jumped again before she turned back into the figure of Professor O'Riordan. She gave him a pre-emptive glare to ward off any teasing.

The primary reason they had arrived late was so that if Lily arrived with the new professor, the secret that O'Riordan had an animagus form would be kept safe.

"Well, we've got an hour to kill. What do we do about it?" asked Harry.

"It's strange," said Hermione. "Free time. We've not had much of that. Stuff just keeps happening."

"Yeah." He pulled out a couple of knives. "Want to see what she taught me?" Niamh nodded. He conjured a piece of plith board and hung it on a large oak with a sticking charm, and then conjured several concentric circles on it. "There."

The first knife was about half a foot left off centre. He overcompensated with the second knife, landing it nine inches to the right of the bullseye. Hermione clapped anyway.

"I know it's not good enough yet," admitted Harry, "but I'm not using any magic. If I did, then they'd be on target. But this is why I'm a Seeker, not a Chaser or Beater. I can catch something, but throwing it is another story."

"How would you use magic?" asked Hermione, curious.

"It's not completely clear. We're not magically mature yet, so it's harder to control. Cedric could probably do it - in fact, I know he's doing it. He's a much better Seeker now than he was two years ago, and it's not just a matter of experience."

"You're not going to be mature for another two or three years, though."

"Tell me about it," muttered Harry.

Hermione resisted the temptation to say that she had just, in fact, told him about it. Things were too serious for that, if the pace at which Voldemort was moving was anything to judge by.

"Perhaps you can use the magic you have anyway to try and hit the target?"

Harry thought about it for a while, and then nodded. "Remind me to ask my teacher about it. Do you want to try throwing these?"

Hermione nodded. Harry lifted his wand.

"Wait, you're not going to actually Summon those two knives to you, are you?"

"I've done it before!" he protested.

"And you always catch them by the handle?"

Harry glared at her, and Summoned them anyway. He caught the first knife by the handle. The second one hit his palm by the hilt and dropped to the ground before he could catch it.

"See? No blood. And I'll get better with the catching."

"Harry!" she cried. "You can't do that?"

"But I've got cushioning charms on my hand!"

"Oh!" she said, stopping the start of a good rant. "Why didn't you say so?"

"You didn't ask - never mind."

Silence. He handed the knives to her. She threw them, biting her lower lip in concentration.

The first knife missed the tree. A rabbit in a bush behind the tree suddenly discovered religion.

He showed her how to stand and grip the knife better. And then moved her closer to the tree.

The second knife caught the edge of the outermost circle. The look of miffedness on her face was most amusing.

"Humph!" she stormed, and conjured a knife and threw it. It spun in the air, hit the board badly, and fell to the ground. She turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised.

"How come my knife spun and yours didn't?" she asked. He Summoned his two knives back to him, ignoring her protests.

"Teacher explained this to me," said Harry, dropping the determinant in referring to She-Who-Could-Not-Be-Called-Mum-In-Public. "These two knives are weighted differently so they don't spin. The ones you conjured are normal kitchen knives."

"Oh," she said softly, feeling the difference between the knives. "I suppose I can try conjuring these ones, but I'll need more information if the weighting is that important."

"You can?" asked Harry, excited. "I'm sure we can find a book on it! Probably a Muggle book, since wizards don't throw knives." He thought for a moment. "Unless they are butter knives loaded with marmalade, the wizard is Blaise, and the target is Draco."

"Did you get the photograph?" asked Hermione, her eyes shining.

"Naw. Wouldn't have mattered anyway. Blaise missed."

Hermione chuckled, before turning her attention back to the knife. "Why didn't your m - teacher suggest transfiguring knives?"

"i don't know," said Harry thoughtfully. "Transfiguration isn't her strong point. She's a Charms and Potions whiz. But you..."

Hermione smiled. "I think this can be our first joint research project." She thought for a moment. "Harry, since we're going to be doing a lot of fighting soon..."

"We?" asked Harry. "Not we. Me. I'm going to be fighting, you're going to be - you can help, I need your help, but you're not going to be fighting." He ducked his head reflexively.

"Potter," she said calmly. "This isn't about you, prophecy or not. Those bastards _fucked_ with my parents' minds and tried to _fuck_ with my life. I am going to fight and no-one, not even you, is going to get in the way. Savvy?"

Harry backed up a couple of steps. Hermione _never_ swore. He had barely finished redefining the meaning of the word 'never' in his mentalese when courage returned and he stepped forward again. "But -"

"But what? Is this because I'm a girl? Rowena Ravenclaw was a witch and she was a better fighter than Godric or Salazar. Even Helga won a third of the duels she had with Godric. I may not be as strong as you, magically or physically, but I'm not staying behind."

"We'll discuss this later," said Harry coldly.

"No," replied Hermione. "You're being taught by a woman and you want to keep me away from a fight that is mine as well as yours."

"She's a vampire."

"When she was human, she defeated Voldemort. She wasn't stronger in any way, and it came at a heavy price, but she was smarter."

Harry sighed. "Look, Hermione. It's got nothing to do with being a woman. Well, maybe a bit, but my macho self will get over that. But even if I was gay and you were a guy, I still wouldn't want you out there."

"But I'm already out there, and I need to learn to defend myself. You can take care of Voldikins, but he's got people around him that the rest of us will have to fight. Besides," she said, making sure her silencing charms were working right, "I want to go around saying 'My name is Hermione Jane Granger. You messed with my father. Prepare to die.'"

Harry got the reference, thanks to the movie they had watched at the Grangers' residence just before the attack, and laughed softly.

"Fine," he said. "You win, for now." He took a deep breath. "So. We must be smarter. I've been thinking about that. We could coat these knives with potions that do various things, not just poison."

"Yes," mused Hermione, and made a few other suggestions before she suddenly remembered something. "Hey! You know who we should really get on board? Fred and George! The Weasley twins!"

"What? You want to fight the Death Eaters by politely asking them if they would like to have some freshly baked cauldron cakes and then have them turn into giant pigeons? Yes, I realize pigeons will be unable to use a wand and Kedavra us, but..."

"Yes, yes, I can imagine the guano wars when the pigeons fight back. But that's just what they sell to folks, Harry. They've got a lot of other stuff they work on. And I've heard the other Weasleys complaining about the number of explosions they cause at home!"

"Ohhhh," said Harry, starting to understand. "I see. Great, you can ask them - O Morgana, you can't, can you? Never mind. I'll talk to them myself when school reopens. They're practically Neutrals anyway."

They heard wings approaching, and Hermione hastily cast a disillusionment spell on herself while Harry transformed into an eagle and flew up into a tree. They both reverted to their visible selves when Crina Vanescu glided down into the centre of the clearing.

"Quiet, both of you," she said to their surprise. "I'm very glad to see you," she added, "but I need to sweep this place for tracking charms first. I'll go slowly so that both of you can take notes and watch."

Ten minutes later, Lily concluded that the place was free of intruders and watchers and magical recording devices. She added her own silencing and notice-me-not charms on top of the ones Harry and Hermione had used.

Then she opened her arms, and Harry rushed into them. Hermione stood a little apart, and Lily beckoned to her after a few moments to join them in a three-way hug.

"I don't have much time," said Lily Evans. "You know about Dumbledore, right?" They nodded, sadly. "Albus was important, but there are other people who are important too. Right now the people who knew him best are Alastor Moody and Minerva McGonagall. I got a message from Moody two hours ago, saying that McGonagall will be coming back to Hogwarts as Headmistress and to lead the fight against Voldemort. She's a better fighter than she appears, so don't underestimate her. You can also trust - I think - Oya Aran. She's got a vendetta against the Impali vampires who are helping Voldemort."

"Now, communication. I'm keeping my charmed notebook, but we've never tried this much of a distance before." She handed out two pieces of parchment to Harry and Hermione. "Those are Muggle and Floo addresses of friends of mine. Anything you send to them will get to me, though it may take a few extra days. You'll also find Muggle phone numbers there, and some basic Romanian and German phrases. Wait, Hermione, don't you speak some German?"

"Ja," replied Hermione, "aber nur ein bisschen." _Yes, but only a little._

"Mum," Harry interrupted. "You can find me easily like you did with the First Task. Is there any way I can find you?" Hermione looked up with interest as well at her answer.

Lily thought about it and then nodded. "I'll need two rings and about an hour of work. Tell you what, I'll get those done today or tomorrow and send them through Professor Aran if I can't get them to you directly. I'm certainly not sending an owl. You'll keep one ring, I'll keep the other." She glanced at Hermione. "Make that three rings."

"You seem to be trusting Aran an awful lot," said Harry.

"Not really," admitted Lily, "though I think she can be trusted, and that's not just because I owe her a life debt. But in this case, the rings will need a key phrase to activate them. Hand me that paper, Harry, I'll write it down."

Mutely, Harry obeyed. When she had finished, she handed it back to him. His eyes widened when he read it.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really," she replied with a grin.

Hermione looked over his shoulder at the paper and chuckled.

"When do you think you'll be back?" asked Harry, serious now.

"A month if I'm lucky. It could be longer. I have a low status in vampire society, though I do have friends. I'll come back with as many as I can, but I'll be surprised if I can get twenty."

"What are you going to say to them?" asked Hermione, curious. "They have no reason to come to Britain, do they?"

"It's much harder now with Albus gone," admitted Lily. "But I'm going to meet with Minerva tonight and see if she can sweeten any deals. And I'll have to see Remus as well. He'll be well enough to follow me next week, I think."

There were suddenly three short howls in the distance.

"Werewolves? Now?" asked Hermione, looking around.

"No, that's Oya. It's her signal to tell me to get back out there. She drove me here - if I had flown I'd be shot down on sight if the Ministry were serious about getting me down."

She hugged Harry, then Hermione, and then Harry again.

"You be a good boy now. I don't know if I'll see you again before I flee Britain."

"Yes, Mum," said Harry, giving her another hug. "I love you."

"I love you too, dear," she said, kissing his hair. "And consider Hermione a maternal substitute in my absence."

"Ick! No, Mum!"

Lily smirked and blew him a kiss as she flew upwards and away, keeping low as she skimmed over to the edge of the Forbidden Forest where Oya Aran's highly recognizable Frankenstein's Monster of cars awaited.

* * *

_A/N: Comparing British prejudiced regulations to South African apartheid policies seems reasonable. However, it is likely that many magical states (eg France) will have some species-based regulations on their books, so it's really a continuum. _


	17. Blaise tries to go to School

_A/N: Today we introduce a word that research (a.k.a. Google) has shown to be as yet unused in the Potterverse : **'religionship'**. It refers to the manic fervour of the shipping wars. (Ship is short for relationship, in case you ever wondered and were too busy to check.) _

_Now that we've said that, a word to fellow H/Hr shippers. Consider that (1) there is a close magical relationship of objects with similar names, (2) a Patronus reflects someone with whom the caster has a strong emotional bond, (3) Hermione's Patronus is an (p)otter. _

_Of course, JKR explains this away by saying that otters are her favourite animal and that she sees a bit of herself in Hermione. If Hermione wants to ship with Harry, Rowling had better not get in her way... has someone written a one-shot where Hermione confronts her creator about this? ;) _

_It's a short chapter because I'm tired. _

* * *

_Headmistress' Office, Hogwarts, one day after Moody told McGonagall that Albus Dumbledore had gone to suck the Great Lemon Drop In The Sky..._

Minerva McGonagall sighed. When the last meeting of the Order of the Phoenix had been in 1981, a hundred and fifty eight witches and wizards had attended. Of that number, a hundred and thirty were still alive and sane (Frank and Alice Longbottom being the most prominent of the exceptions). Of those, eighty six were still in Britain prior to Dumbledore's demise, and sixty two after it. But only twenty five had shown up to today's meeting, and that included the five new members.

James Potter was one of them. He sat stony-faced next to a stunned-looking Sirius Black. She had informed James earlier that day about Albus' belief that Harry and not Paul had survived Voldemort's curse. She wondered how Paul would react when James told him. _If_ James told him. James hadn't actually said any words (grunts did not count) to her since she had told him ten hours previously.

Now she was going to tell everyone else present.

She checked Albus' drawer to see if she could find any lemon drops. Just as it had been the two times she had already checked that day, it was empty.

She looked at her watch. She drummed her hands on the table. She rolled her eyes. She watched Moody roll his eyes. She ran out of things to do to procrastinate saying what she had to say.

"Welcome to the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix since 1981," she said. There were several glances to the empty perch where Fawkes used to sit. "If anyone wants to quibble about its name, do so now."

No-one said anything, though there were more glances at the empty perch. She took out her wand and moved it to the side of the room so it would not be a distraction and a reminder of her predecessor.

"Albus Dumbledore is dead," she said. "He Who Must Not Be Named is not dead any more." There were nods and gasps all around. Evidently, several people had hoped to hear that Dumbledore was alive. McGonagall motioned to Alastor to explain what happened the day Dumbledore died. He did so, and a few tears were shed during that time. Then he handed the floor back to her.

With a sigh, she began relating what Albus had told Alastor about the Boys Who Lived. Moody could have done this himself, but it sounded more credible coming from her. Besides, she was the leader of the Order, not Moody.

The response was, as expected, highly silent followed by highly vocal.

In fact, half the people in the room refused to believe it. And when Potter and Black remained silent, McGonagall knew she had to do something to prevent the Order splitting up over the issue.

"Quiet!" she shouted in her most authoritative voice. Considering that she had taught several of the people in the room at some point, this worked. "It does not matter to us if Harry or Paul Potter is the Boy Who Lived, as long as we fight Voldemort. Do we at least agree on this?"

Muttered agreements, reluctant nods, fervent nods. Someone's hair tested all the colours of the rainbow in quick repetitive succession.

"There is more news," continued McGonagall. "Some of you will remember that Crina Vanescu was hired as the DADA Professor by Albus. She was only able to teach for a term due to these idiotic regulations that the Ministry has come up with. She is a member of the Order, and has now returned to Romania to recruit more vampires to help us."

There were protests.

"Silence!" shouted McGonagall. "May I remind you that vampires have served in the Order before? If anyone has any objections to receiving help from vampires or werewolves - Remus Lupin will be leaving soon on a similar mission - the door is open."

A couple of people left.

"Anyone else?"

No one else.

"Now, as some of you already know, Crina Vanescu used to be a member of the Order before. She is a turned vampire. She was turned in 1986 and has now recovered from the memory loss that followed her turning." McGonagall was careful to avoid mentioning for how long the loss had lasted. "But then she was known as Lily Evans."

Shock. Many looks at James, who nodded. There was much muttering and whispering and words of disbelief. Two chairs were fallen off of.

"Do you all understand the implications of this?"

A few nods. Disbelief still hung in the air, like a sword of Damocles over stale pita bread.

"How much of this is secret to the Order?" asked the (now-)pink-haired witch.

"A very good question, Nymphadora," said McGonagall, causing the young Auror to scowl magnificently. "Voldemort is aware that Harry is the Boy Who Lived, and that is why he used Harry's blood in his resurrection..."

"How do we know young Harry didn't give him the blood himself?" asked Amos Diggory, who didn't know of or share his son's opinions regarding the two Potter boys.

Even James stood up and vocally protested this. Sirius, surprisingly, was the one to calm his friend down.

"May I remind you all," said Minerva, "as I have needed to be reminded myself, that Harry Potter shares the same house as Alastor? For now, if it's not too much of a strain on your self control, _shut up_. I'm not done with the announcements yet."

Moody grinned. If there had been any fears that Minerva McGonagall would be unable to take over the mantle of her mentor, they were rapidly disappearing. The tabby Animagus had had plenty of time to seethe while in a trunk for three months. Now her claws were out and awaiting an enemy to use as a scratching post or kitty litter box.

"Hogwarts," said McGonagall, "has been home to a Death Eater for the past few months. Her name is Citrina Harrap and she escaped. She was impersonating a member of staff, while the said teacher was held prisoner. In this time she managed to obtain Harry Potter's blood for Voldemort's resurrection by Imperiusing Pomona Sprout to do so. She also betrayed Severus Snape, almost killed a Slytherin student - Millicent Bulstrode - for the crime of making friends with other houses, and led Voldemort's vampires to the house of Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's Muggleborn Gryffindor girlfriend who is the brightest witch in her year. Her actions triggered a series of events that resulted in the torture and death of Snape, the torture and near-death of Remus Lupin, and enough psychological torture of the Grangers to cause them to pull their daughter out of Hogwarts. It was only thanks to Lily's actions - she escaped Voldemort's clutches and killed ten or so vampires and Death Eaters and rescued Lupin, Granger, and Potter - that things were not worse."

She paused. "I was the one impersonated. Citrina was my friend, my best childhood friend."

No-one said anything. They could almost hear her unsheath her claws.

* * *

The family and close friends of Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore held a private ceremony in their native Cornwall village. 

Meanwhile, the Ministry held a much more elaborate and well-attended funeral for Albus where many fine words were spoken and several packets of lemon drops were consumed in his memory.

A third memorial was held by stalwarts of the British confectionary industry, but details of this were not made known to the public. The only journalist tried to crash the ceremony was turned into ingredients for blood pops.

* * *

Norag Ivanisevic and his team of vampire assassins left Britain two days after Crina Vanescu did. They had orders, given by Lady Impali based on the information of Lord Voldemort, to track her down and "terminate her with extreme prejudice". Norag had rolled his eyes at that apocalyptic remark ("It's so 1979!") though not in front of his boss. 

They took with them the corpses of their two suicide bombers from the Hogsmeade attack and of a third team member who was killed in a freak accident involving an enchanted electric razor that shaved his head off.

* * *

_Three days later, Hogwarts Opening Day_

Blaise Zabini walked defiantly to the train at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, his trunk and emergency portkeys safely ensconsed in his robe pockets. There were students milling about, parents doing the parent thing (his breath caught and he tried not to think about that), and Aurors around for security.

It was not particularly difficult to notice the looks that he received once people caught sight of the snake mark on his cheek.

'Gits,' he thought to himself. 'Bloody gits, all of them. One stupid tattoo and suddenly I'm causing firsties to widdle their unmentionables and everyone else to treat me like a fucking Slytherin. Oh, wait. I am a fucking Slytherin. Well, almost, depending on Katie. I'm glad she's older than me.'

He looked at his Magically enhanced Rolex. It had belonged to his mother. He hoped someone would challenge him soon about what he was doing wearing a ladies' watch, and that that someone would be worth a good hex. He'd been reading his mother's school journals that she'd left him in her will, and there was a marvellous curse relating to the loss of bladder control that he was itching to try out.

It was still twenty minutes before departure time and he kicked himself for being early. Normally his mother would spend her time fussing about him so much that he'd get to the station with three minutes to spare. He had wondered why it was always three and not two or four and a half. He had even wondered once if his mother was doing it on purpose because three was a magic number. She had laughed when he had confronted her about it and queried why she couldn't have chosen seven instead of three.

Anastasia Zabini had a nice laugh.

Anastasia Zabini _had_ had a nice laugh.

He blinked away the tears that were threatening to form. Time to get on the train. Katie would find him there. It was a pity Harry was already at Hogwarts.

Speaking of Potters... he spotted Paul and his pride of sycophantic lions a few meters away and decided it was an excellent time to practise his sneer.

He practised his sneer. Nothing drove away sad thoughts like a good sneer.

Paul saw him and sneered back. Blaise chuckled - Gryffindors never could sneer properly. Though he'd never seen Hermione or Katie sneering. He added the latter thought to his ever expanding list of personal research topics.

He heard a shout a few feet away.

"Let me go!"

"You have no right to do this!"

"Yes we do, you bloody Slytherin scum!"

There was a flash of red, a few screams, more flashes, more screams.

The wheels in Blaise's mind, which had been gathering rust in the past fortnight, groaned as they turned. But they did turn, and what popped up was the Daily Prophet's headlines of a week ago about Serpentinus members being hauled in for questioning.

Bugger.

The Aurors were arresting people with the snake mark.

Nine years ago, Anastasia Zabini created a monster. Its birth was innocuous; just a five year old getting a birthday present. But the present was a magical camera and from then on no Zabini was safe from the roving paparazzi-in-training that was Blaise Quentin Loyola Amorfus Zabini. Anastasia had groaned several times in public about the annoyance that was her son, though she would immediately follow each set of groans by showing off her favourite photographs taken by Blaise.

Two years ago, her husband (number six) had given - much to the family's collective dismay - Blaise an enchanted ring that could take photographs. They were not very clear photographs since the ring was so small and size-changing charms interfered with a camera's full functionality. He didn't use the ring much for this reason, though he had registered it with both the E.S.P.C.P. (European Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Photographers) and the E.S.E.C.P. (European Society for the Encouragement of Cruelty to Paparazzi).

But this was the perfect opportunity to take pictures, even if he had no clue what to do with them afterwards. It was a photographer's instinct: "See spectacle, will click".

He managed to use his ring to take a dozen shots of underage Slytherins being manhandled by the Aurors before he was caught himself.

"Hey, you!" A tough hand landed roughly on his shoulder and spun him ninety degrees. "What's your name?"

The speaker was a wizard with short grey hair. His name tag said "Dawlish" in large letters and "Calrove" in smaller letters above it.

"Blaise Zabini."

Dawlish's face brightened. "Zabini? Excellent. You will be accompanying us for questioning for being a member of the Serpentinus cult."

"I'm not a member! I don't know where this mark came fr-" shouted Blaise before another Auror stunned him from behind.

The last thing he saw was Katie's frantic figure running towards him.

The last thought he had as he fell to the platform was that he had lost the perfect opportunity to make a 'saved by the Bell' joke.

* * *

_A/N: Dawlish's first name is derived from one of the most dangerous and influential men in the United States. That's a bit of a compliment to the sycophantic canon character, but never mind. _

_Coming up: More on what happens to Blaise in Ministry custody, and the first few days at Hogwarts. Because of the mark and the Ministry's stance, not all of Harry's allies are going to stick with him. Also - though this will take some chapters - remember the map. _

_Did no-one figure out the tennis reference that's been around since Chapter 15? _


	18. The Interrogations

_It's been a while. My apologies. I've been busy with real life, and finally managed to graduate. I'm working now, so updates may take a while. I'd like to thank all those who've been bugging me through reviews and PMs to update my fics - I can honestly say that if you hadn't done that, you wouldn't be reading this! Keep the guilt trips coming... _

_Apologies, too, for not updating the fic(s) you expected me to update. _

* * *

_Tuebingen, Germany_

Lily watched the river Neckar flow past. She was dressed in Muggle attire - pink shirt, black pants, dorky sunglasses, and stupid straw hat - with the usual glamour to hide the bulge that was her wings folded up. She was sipping a glass of red wine (so onlookers thought) in one of the many interior tables. Thanks to a Notice Me Not charm, the Muggle waiters never passed by her table to give her hints to leave. She idly wondered if that qualified as Muggle baiting. Sure, every witch and wizard in Europe did it, but that didn't mean it wasn't banned in some books somewhere.

Her notebook chimed and she opened it to read Hermione Jane's latest message. It was a long one. The girl was writing as herself, and not as her new alter ego. Hermione had charmed it so it looked like one of her Arithmancy notebooks if anyone else looked at it.

Lily looked at her watch. Gunnar and Elsa were, as was traditional for German _academics_ (as opposed to every other German) late. This was presumably because Gunnar was refusing to ask for directions or because Elsa was asking too many people for directions as a pretext to puncturing their necks for a between-meals snack. Given the time of day, the former was more likely.

She sighed, took another sip of bull (blood), and began reading.

_Dear Lily, _

_I still can't believe the notebooks work over this distance! I guess that magical distance and geographical distance don't always match. That's what Jacobson says in his monograph on Magical Metric Spaces that Professor Vector gave Padma and I to read last year. Have you read it? We should do some experiments to figure out the time delay between these notebooks though; I'd like to know if it's faster than email... curses, I'm digressing already. _

_Britain is in deep doodoo - and sinking further. Terry says once we hit rock bottom, Fudge is going to start digging. We're wondering if Fudge is being McGonagalled - impersonated by a Death Eater in disguise. Do you know if that's possible? _

_Hogwarts reopened yesterday. It was ugly. The Ministry arrested everyone at Platform 9 3/4 who had the snake mark. That's the funny squiggle that's been appearing on the cheeks of mostly powerful neutral Slytherin students like Harry and Blaise. The Aurors kept Blaise and the rest for 'questioning'. _

_Some Aurors also came to Hogwarts to take Harry (and some of the other Slytherins who were here for the holiday) away for questioning. Sirius Black - Harry told me about him - was one of them. He tried to control his coworkers but it didnt help much. There was still a loud argument in the middle of the Great Hall against the Aurors with Harry and John Barnes the most vocal. I don't know how Sirius managed to calm Harry down but he did. _

_Harry's not back yet. And even when he gets back, I can't see him at once. It would be awkward if a new professor suddenly wanted to speak to him. I'm very torn, and this whole charade is horrible already. How am I supposed to keep this up for another few months? Add to that all the people speaking in the corridors about how Harry's Mudblood girlfriend was too chicken to stay in school. I know, I shouldn't listen to what people say. I'm usually good at ignoring it. But it still hurts, you know? _

_Are people on the continent paying any attention to what's happening here? It reminds me of the stories that my one of my primary school teachers used to tell me about her father having to flee Nazi Germany because he was Sinti. Are the European Ministries going to be like Chamberlain or Churchill? _

_I've been keeping up correspondence with my parents through Noleen in New Zealand. They have given me permission to write to Harry. I suppose that's progress. Mum's doing temp work as a dentist there while Dad's decided to muck around for a bit with his brother. They're both attending night classes in seSotho. They wanted to learn isiXhosa first, since Nelson Mandela speaks that, but Dad had trouble making the click sounds. _

_Jane _

* * *

The Slytherin students were moved down the corridors of the Ministry in single file, surrounded on all sides by Aurors. Harry was second from the front, after Millicent Bullstrode. All the students were pictures of Pureblood stoicism, though their eyes scanned their surroundings quickly and efficiently. None seemed inclined to escape, and it was clear that many of the watching passers-by thought the number of guards for a bunch of schoolchildren was rather ludicrous. Sirius certainly thought so. 

As they passed by various interrogation rooms, the Slytherins were individually removed from the pack and guided in for 'personal questioning'. Some of the students' emotionless masks froze at this stage, as their minds jumped to the worst possible conclusions.

Harry's turn came soon, as he was politely shoved into a room by a burly Auror. As he entered, he could vaguely hear another Auror making aspersions to Millicent's femininity as she was herded into another room.

Another pair of Aurors followed them in. They were both women, and Harry was surprised to recognize one of them. Then again, Nymphadora Tonks was rather recognizable, which was rather ironic for a Metamorphmagus. Being Sirius' cousin, she had made it over to Potter Manor a few times. While they had never really talked --- Harry had long learnt that most visitors to Potter Manor preferred not to talk to him and was happy to reciprocate by being sullen and invisible --- he knew she had a poor opinion of Paul. Which meant she couldn't be all that bad; at least better than Sirius.

Tonks inclined her head slightly at him before quickly glancing at her two companions. Harry got the message - she would try to prevent things from getting out of hand, but she couldn't reveal her hand.

The burly man shoved him into a chair. Harry sat on it after genteelly dusting it off with the inner flap of his school robes.

"Name," intoned the older witch, who was about his mother's age. Presumably she was in charge of the interrogation.

"Harold James Potter the Sixth," said Harry. This was normally when he grimaced about his name, but he could only see it being useful here. He might be the black sheep of the family, but he was still a member of it.

Older Witch and Burly Man looked at him again. They were going to ask him if he was related to Paul, he knew it...

"The eagle?" she asked. "You're the Hogwarts Champion, right?"

Harry barely managed to stop his jaw dropping, and muttered something about being second champion after Cedric. Tonks gave him an approving nod.

"Why did you join Serpentinus?" asked Burly Man suddenly.

"I'm not a member of Serpentinus," replied Harry.

"Of course you are," argued Burly. "You have their mark on your cheek, therefore you are a member."

"But I'm not a member!"

"Stop playing games. Your membership is not at issue. We want to know why, when, and how you joined."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. He decided to do what Sirius had whispered in his ear at Hogwarts, a piece of advice he had managed to surreptitiously slip to his housemates.

"You have held me here like a criminal and confiscated my wand. As a member of a Pureblood Clan, I demand my right to legal counsel."

There. He'd said it... and could see a relieved look flash across his godfather's cousin's face. He'd been curious as to what their approach would be without it, and he knew that now. Not that he'd expected much else.

Burly glared at him and spat, moving his head at the last moment so that Harry's face remained dry. Older Witch gave Harry a mild glare, though it was clear that she had expected as much.

"I also extend the protection of Clan Potter to Nicola Edgeworthy, Millicent Bulstrode, Anastasia McKenna. Ian Rush, John Barnes, and any of my other housemates you have here for questioning. I demand that their interrogation cease this instant and not continue till they have had the benefit of legal counsel as well."

"You can't do that!" yelled Burly. Harry could see the wheels turning in the heads of the two witches. Knowledge of legal issues were part of Auror training, though the depth of knowledge required and recalled varied widely.

Incidentally, extending the protection of his Slytherophobic family was _not_ included in his godfather's advice.

"Yes, I can," replied Harry with more confidence than he felt. "I am the elder of the Potter twins, and can act as proxy on matters of Class II importance or below - offering protection is Class III and therefore included - until as such time as my father cancels my action. But until he does so, they are under my protection. So if you don't want us to drag you before the Wizengamot faster than you can say Pumpkin Juice, I suggest you tell your colleagues to halt their questioning. Now."

Older Witch looked at him with a calculating glance, as one might give a poker player who has just upped the ante but probably has at most a pair, and eventually nodded. She indicated that Burly and Tonks should exit the room and halt the other interrogations.

"Impressive, Mr Potter," she said when her colleagues had left.

Harry said nothing, waiting for her to spill some information, any information. She waited for him to respond, before giving up and lighting up a cigarette. Harry wasn't surprised; most Magicals under forty who smoked prefer to light up a cigarette than a cigar.

He knew his father would repudiate the Potter protection the moment he heard of it, but the important thing was that he had bought time for the others to think. Of course, they might owe him a favour, too. As a Slytherin, he was happy to claim that, though he would have done it anyway, at least for Bulstrode. Not that she needed it, with her family, nor did Barnes. But he wasn't sure how well they knew their rights as Purebloods.

The situation was different for those half-bloods who did not have ancient families, Harry reflected. Hermione would have been horrified, and with good reason. If they were accused of a crime, they had rights to legal counsel, but if they were merely kept without trial... how long could they be kept without trial for? Harry couldn't remember. Ninety days, he thought, if the government wasn't in a State of Emergency.

He hoped Blaise's 'interview' was long over with...

* * *

At that moment, Blaise was busy thinking about what had just happened. He had gone through a similar interrogation procedure, but had not suffered physically. Some of the accusations though... they would have been laughable if they hadn't been so serious. 

He glanced at his ring again. He was anxious to see if had taken some good photographs, but didn't dare check while he was still on Ministry grounds.

He was with most of the other students who had been arrested with him. Right now they were in a group sitting on stone benches in the Ministry courtyard, waiting for Professors Flitwick and Sinistra.

Clearly, this was just a warning sign from the Ministry. Something to mess with their minds. What Blaise couldn't understand was why most of those he would have pegged to join Serpentinus - Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Casselthwaite -had not been picked up as well. Or maybe they had already returned to Hogwarts. He knew some students had.

The Slytherin students had mixed feelings about the Hogwarts response. On the positive side - it was quick. However, Professor McGonagall had not come herself - instead, she had sent the Deputy Headmaster and the new Head of Slytherin to the Ministry as soon as she had heard about the events at the train station. Someone had told her of it even before the train had left Platform 9 3/4, and the two professors had got to the Ministry within twenty minutes of the students arriving there.

Professor Sinistra had been the new Head of Slytherin ever since Professor Snape had been killed by, as was commonly suspected, the Dark Lord. The students did not know that she was only a temporary appointment. She was, by her own admission, not the best person to lead the House, as she was an academic by nature. On the other hand, she was from an old Pureblood family and was acquainted with the political shenanigans that that entailed, even if she never exercised any influence she might have.

The Slytherins missed Snape. Especially in a situation like this.

And while Flitwick had probably taught every single Auror here under fifty and was well respected, it was still not a good sign that McGonagall had not come herself. It would have sent a far more positive message if she had done so.

"Hey!" said a fourth year student sitting near him. "Isn't that Bulstrode?"

Blaise looked up, surprised. Millicent? Here? Wasn't she at Hogwarts? He stood up, brushed himself out of habit, and began walking towards her. Behind him, he could hear a few of his curious housemates following him at a respectable distance. Of those present, he was perceived as being closest to the assertive (by Pureblood standards) and muscular girl.

"Zabini," she said. "They got you too?"

He quickly explained what had happened at the train station. His voice was high enough for those around them to hear. She listened carefully, as she always did, before nodding at the end of his explanation.

"I heard similar stuff at the Feast, when hardly anyone turned up from Slytherin."

"Malfoy?" asked Blaise.

"Hardly anyone who mattered," she clarified. "Malfoy was present, along with his gang. No Ministry questioning for them, oh no."

Blaise cocked his head. Something was going on, and he couldn't figure it out. What was clear was that Millicent had the Serpentinus mark as well, as it was well displayed on her cheek.

"Potter was taken in too," she added. "And McKenna, Edgeworthy, Barnes. Think that's it. No, Rush too." She scratched her head, trying to remember who else had stayed behind at Hogwarts over the holidays and had been in the interrogation queue with her.

"Harry? They got him too?" asked Blaise, eyes wide.

"Still being interrogated. He'll probably play the Old Pureblood Family card like I did."

Blaise looked behind her, trying to see if Harry would suddenly turn up.

He didn't. However, Professor Sinistra did. There was an immediate shuffling behind them as the Slytherin students stood up, adjusted ties and brushed down skirts and stood to look at her. The look on her face was tired but determined. She did a double take when she saw Millicent, and marched up to her at once.

"Bulstrode!" she questioned at once, her face full of concern and not a little confusion. "What are you doing here? No, never mind that, are you well?" She didn't ask if Millicent had the mark, since that was obvious.

Millicent nodded, and quickly related what she had already told Blaise. Sinistra nodded, and was already taking out a two metre length of rope by the time the girl finished.

"I see," said the teacher. "It explains a lot of what I heard while I was in there. I suspect Professor Flitwick is with the others now. Now, this is a Portkey back to Hogwarts. Report back to the Headmistress immediately. She is very anxious to know precisely what is going on."

"Professor," asked another Slytherin who had approached them. "What _is_ going on?" The others pressed forward, hoping to hear an answer.

Sinistra sighed. "I'd tell you if I knew. I don't know. In fact, quite a few Aurors don't seem entirely comfortable with the situation themselves. Now, get back to Hogwarts and report to the Headmistress. I've got to go back and see what's happening with the others."

* * *

The five wizards and witches sat discontentedly in the Muggle pub. Silencing charms were fully operational. 

Present were Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Sirius Black, Lucy Ferreira, and Susan McDeth

"I'm resigning," said Ferreira. "My brother works in Jamaica. He emigrated there two years ago and says it's pretty cool. Other than the weather - that's hot and disgusting."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You're not kidding."

"It's getting close." Ferreira waved her arms expansively, causing Susan McDeth to duck reflexively. Susan was holding a full cup of wine at the time and it was a miracle that nothing was spilt. "The Ministry used to be something we could be proud of. Now it's all in an uproar because of these bloody Serpentinus bastards and their bloodsuckers."

"Yesterday I had to help evict a family because their sole breadwinner was accused by the neighbours of being a Serpentinus member. The guy's a bookkeeper, for Merlin's sake. Nothing on him at all."

"I went to Gringotts yesterday. The Goblins always treat me badly, but this was - I've never been so humiliated in my life. They're expecting to be the next targets of our beloved Ministry."

"Jen and Fatso resigned this morning. They're going to Norway."

"Even Diggory's getting all wuffy."

"Wuffy?"

"That's Hufflepuff slang for frustrated."

"You were in Hufflepuff?"

"Yeah, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Gryffindor but I wanted to be with my sisters. Never regretted it."

"I hear Bones has started drinking again."

"What took her so long?"

"Did you hear what Dawlish and Stuffsmith were saying to the Zabini kid when they brought him in? They were accusing him of being a Serpentinus member who killed his mother as an inside job!"

"Fuck!"

"Those bastards are really getting out of control." It was unclear who precisely the bastards were, but no-one asked for clarification.

"Is he a member?"

"He's got the mark."

"And what the fuck does that mean, exactly? They all claimed it appeared out of bloody nowhere!"

It was a good question, and no-one tried to answer it.

* * *

_A/N: In the previous chapter. Harry, Remus, et al figured out the most likely scenario with the marks of Serpentinus. The characters here, Sinistra included, haven't had a chance to hear it yet. _

_Anyone got some good Dark!Hermione fic recs? Harmony or not. _

_I still haven't had any urge to read the DH (Dumb Hermione) book, but you know my opinion on that evil Heronista fic. Which is why Hermione is still called Jane here. In my completely opinionated opinion, Hermione Jane refers to the character we had up to and including OOTP, and Hermione Jean is the dumbed down version Rowling replaced her with afterwards. _

_I've been having a good laugh about Jo's Grand Pronouncements about Neville/Hannah and Albus being gay. Who honestly cares what she has to say any more, after she proved to be so delusional? Yay, we got a gay character. Boo, because she didn't have the guts to do it in the books itself. And boo, because it wasn't my favourite gay couple (Sirius/Remus). _


End file.
